


The Fortress division

by An_abundance_of_squids



Series: The fortress division [2]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Action, No Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-11
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-07-23 00:10:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 34,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7458997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/An_abundance_of_squids/pseuds/An_abundance_of_squids
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Fortress division<br/>After the events of last week, the entire team is suddenly thrust into a war against an enemy that threatens to shake the very foundations of the team and our own intrepid hero's mind. (sequel to hit the ground running)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fine

"Hell yeah!" Frederick yelled, attracting the glare of everyone in the room. The RED Scout paused mid yell and looked around sheepishly. "I mean...this is terrible. Or something. Oh come on guys!" He exclaimed, throwing up his arms, unable to keep in his excitement any longer. "This is going to be _awesome!_ I mean, we're gonna be fighting this other team an' we're gonna team up again like in the robot war thing but this time those dumbasses are never gonna guess what hit 'em 'cause if ya mess with _us_ , ya gonna get ya asses kicked so goddamn hard ya gonna be sent to the _moon!_ "

 

"Scout, this is _not_ like one of your action movies." The RED Spy suddenly interjected. "This is a covert operation zhat calls for stealth and secrecy. We _can not_ let Black Mesa know that we are doing zhis."

 

"So...does that mean I can use ya spy watch? I mean, that's stealthy, ri-ight?"

 

"Scout…" Lawrence warned.

 

"Alright, alright, I'll stop. Jeez, lighten up you guys. I mean, am I right Nate?"

 

The BLU Scout however, did not answer. His mind was too preoccupied with other things to share his double's enthusiasm.

This 'war' meant that the Commander would return. It would mean that what happened last time could happen again. It meant that–

 

"Nate? Ya alright pal?"

 

The Scout was suddenly shaken out of his thoughts by the concerned voice of his friend, suddenly aware that the entirety of the two teams were staring at him.

"I...I'm fine." He stuttered.

 

"Ye don't sound fine, ya wee laddie." Their Demoman commented. "Maybe ya should leave."

 

"Ja…" The Medic agreed, sounding slightly worried.

 

"No! I'm fine...I have to be." Someone tried to put a gloved hand on his shoulder, but he swatted it away.

 

"ALRIGHT PRIVATE!" The BLU Soldier yelled, grabbing ahold of the Scout's shoulder and spinning him around to face him. "WHAT ARE YOU NOT TELLING US?!"

 

The Scout froze, unable to speak. He couldn't tell them that he'd failed. Not here, in front of both teams _and_ Miss Pauling. He wasn't meant to fail. Not like this. But at the same time, he couldn't go. Engineer was right, he was a Scout – he _had_ to be alright.

He wanted to run, to get away from the questioning stares of the team, but there was nowhere to run here.

"WELL?!"

 

He tried to say something, but nothing came out. He didn't know what to say, and his usually fast mind was blank. He felt cornered, with no ammo left and only one way out.

"I...I failed…" He stuttered, taking that only way.

 

The Soldier in front of him was silent for a long, hard moment, his dark blue eyes staring intensely at in from underneath his helmet.

 

He couldn't take it.

 

His body was suddenly possessed by a strength that by all rights should've been impossible, and he pushed past the Soldier, his mind only focused on one thing right now – getting out of that room and away from the judging gaze of his team.

And then, pushing a red clad figure to the side and out of the doorway, he was out.

 

And then, panting for breath, he stopped.

 

He was better than this, wasn't he?

 

Wasn't he?

This wasn't him. He had been hired to be a Scout, and so far, he was failing to be that. He was meant to be nigh-invincible – impossible to follow, let alone pin down and hit.

But yet that man had done just that. He had taken him down with a single shot. He was failing to live up to his own name, let alone the one of Scout.

 

"Scout?"

The runner spun around to find that someone had followed him out of the room. Miss Pauling stood behind him, a slightly bemused expression on her face. She had known Scout (along with the rest of the team) since they had been hired in the sixties, but she had _never_ seen him act like _this_.

 

"Oh christ…" He murmured, bringing a shaking hand to his forehead. He wanted to run again, but while he could run from his team, there was no running from the purple clad women of administration. "I fucked up didn't I? I fucked up real bad an' you're gonna fire me an' then ya gonna kill me 'cause spy Said that's what you're gonna do when we leave–"

 

"Scout, slow down." The assistant said, but Scout was going to fast for him to even notice her.

 

"An' then even if ya don't fire me, that Commander guy's gonna kill me again 'cause I ain't good enough an' were at freaking _war_ now and of course he's gonna show up an' an'..." His speech slowed, having finally run out of things to say.

 

"Scout, why do you think I or the Administrator will fire you?"

 

"'Cause I failed."

 

"Failed?"

 

"Yeah…" His voice trembled as he spoke. "That man nearly went an' killed me an' that means I failed. 'Cause ya ain't meant to hit me. Ya ain't even meant ta _see_ me. I'm meant ta be fast an' shit but I wasn't fast enough an' he shot me an' _I did nothing about it._ "

 

"Scout, we aren't going to fire you." She adjusted her glasses and looked the Scout in the eye. "Yes, if this had been a mission assigned to you by the Administrator personally and if this was not the first time you had encountered the man and if the attack by Black Mesa had been anticipated, you would have failed. But that wasn't the case – you went off by yourself not knowing who or what you would face and suffered the consequences of that. Yes, she is annoyed that you nearly got yourself killed, an action that cost us time, money and effort, but she won't fire you."

 

"But...but what if he comes again?"

 

"He vill not come again." A third voice interjected, as the white form of Medic came into the corridor. "Miss pauling, you vill haff to excuse Scout, but he is suffering from an acute stress reaction..."

 

"Pardon?"

 

"Shock. He is suffering from shock."

 

"From the attack?"

 

"Ja."

 

"How will this affect things Hans?"

 

"First of all, my name is Josef," he corrected, taking ahold of the Scout's arm. "And second of all, I haff no idea. Zhis could go away tomorrow or zhis could turn into something _much_ vorse." He shrugged. "Our best option now iz to hope zhat zhis 'Commander' does not show up and zhat Scout vill return to normal on his own accord."

 

"Will that happen though?"

 

"Zhis is Scout vi are talking about. It vill."

 

"But what now?"

 

"Now? Vi wait." The German replied, directing the Scout away from the room and its discussion of war.

 

* * *

 

**BANG**

 

A single, final shot rung through the training room, hitting its target moments with a crack as the wooden target shook with the impact, threatening to break apart at any moment. 

 

The Scout lowered his pistol and twirled it around on his trigger finger, slipping out its magazine as he did so and replacing it with a fresh one. 

 

“God damn it…” He muttered as he saw that his shot hadn't hit his target dead on, instead hitting slightly off to the left. 

 

Glancing up at the clock in the test chamber, he noted that there was only five minutes left until the match started. Five minutes to go but yet the meeting in the RED intelligence room still had not ended. Hell, he had no idea if they were even fighting that morning, with that meeting and all. 

 

Pulling his focus back to the wooden target in front of him, he aimed his gun and fired. Twelve shots, each one hitting the wooden target, but not a single one hitting centre. 

 

Lowering the gun, he winced slightly and pulled out yet another empty magazine and threw it on the ground. His arms ached from the recoil of the pistol and his ears were starting to ring from the constant noise. 

 

But he wasn't ready to give up right now. 

 

Slipping in another magazine, he trained the gun back on the target. He’d been here all morning since his dismissal, taking down fake enemy after fake enemy, trying to desperately assure himself that he was fine, that he wasn’t going to fold in on himself and collapse at a moment's notice. 

 

Taking a deep, slightly trembling breath, he fired off another twelve rounds. The shots hit, glowing with some sort of almost ethereal azure light that crackled along the bullets like lightning, before hitting and finally shattering the target into a thousand splinters. 

 

_ Match 1 of 6.27.74 begins in five minutes gentlemen!  _

 

Jerking his head to look at the speaker located on the training room’s roof, the scout lowered his arms and put the gun back away in his bag, before pulling out a wooden baseball bat. 

 

Resting the bat on his shoulder, he made his way to the room’s exit, leading him directly to their respawn room, where he found half his team already there, waiting for the game to begin.

Demoman sat against the wall, a half bottle of...something in one hand. Sniper sat on the bench next to the resupply locker, the matte, black form of the machina on his lap. Pyro was rummaging around in the locker for something, while behind it, Spy leant against a wall, watching the firebug with a detached interest. 

 

“So...we fighting today?” He asked, seeing as everyone in the room was preparing for battle.

 

“Aye.” Demo nodded before taking a swig from his bottle. 

 

“Ya think ya gonna be alright mate?” The Sniper asked, glancing up from his rifle in front of him.

 

“I'm gonna be  _ fine.  _ I always am pal.” He gave the Sniper a thumbs up and grinned. But while he acted confident, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of worry. What if he wasn't fine? What if, despite all his assurances to both the team and to himself, he wasn't fine? 

 

Her pushed those thoughts back and turned his mind to the battle ahead of him. No matter if he was or wasn't, he  _ had _ to be fine. 

 

“Ya didn't seem OK before Scoots. Maybe ya should sit this one out.” The Demoman suggested, apparently still sober enough to remember what had happened.

 

“What! No. Way. I’m  _ fine. _ ” He insisted, moving to sit down next to Sniper. Sighing, he leaned back against the wall. 

 

_ Coo _

 

The call of a dove suddenly jerked his attention away from his internal battle, and up to the room’s rafters, where a pristine white bird sat. it watched him from up there, like a minion of some judging deity, black eyes unreadable as it sat there, silent once more.

 

But it was just a dove, and despite all of Medic’s proclamations, he was no god. 

 

The bird let out another coo and flew down to the runner, landing at his feet. And scout swore that it was the same bird that had stood by his bed that morning. 

 

“You're Hippocrates aren't ya?” He murmured, leaning over to be on the same level as the dove. “Well, I’m fine. Ya don't need ta keep watching over me.”

 

The dove remained silent. 

 

The scout let out a hmph and sat back up. The Administrator's voice blared through the PA system, informing them that the match was about to start. 

  
  
_ Match begins in 3...2...1... _

 

* * *

changelog 11-7-16

 

\+ added chapter

 

17-8-16

 

\+ edited text


	2. Within a second

_Match begins in 3...2...1..._

 

Scout didn't even wait for the announcer to say go before he sprinted out of the opening gate, issuing a battlecry.

His mind soon forgot all that had happened as he plunged into the heat of battle, his form a blur as he ran about, too fast for even the sniper to follow. _This_ was where he belonged, not in some meeting room discussing plans or in the infirmary with yet another injury. He had a power out here that _no one_ could take from him. A power that came not from strength or intelligence but from his speed and his armoury.

 

A power that didn't have to listen to reason.

 

His eyes and mind constantly flickered around the battlefield as he ran towards the RED base, constantly looking for any signs of danger, but finding none. He was too fast for Sniper to headshot, Spy couldn't backstab him while running and avoiding the other team's Heavy and Medic duo was _laughably_ easy.

The sound of his footsteps abruptly changed as he suddenly found himself once more in the dusty interior of the wooden base. But while a dozen things could've changed, his thoughts would never deviate far his one-track mind.

Around the corner and then up the stairs and the wood and hay turned to tile and gypsum as he entered the cool basement below. Nothing could stop him now, he smirked. he was a force of nature, something that could not be stopped or contained.

 

How could he _ever_ let himself forget that?

 

How _did_ he forget it?

 

He pushed those thoughts behind as he rounded the final corridor into the intelligence room proper.

And there, in front of him, was a red briefcase.

 

The Intelligence.

 

Grabbing it by the handle with one hand, he grinned, suddenly filled with the euphoria of success. He knew what to do now.

Suddenly, the silence of the basement was broken by a series of shouts. Instantly recognizing the voices as the enemy Demoman's and the Soldier's, he shook himself out of his daze. He couldn't face those two alone, he knew that.

Taking a deep breath, he ran.

Out of the intelligence room, past the two men and past where he had entered. He ran up the slope that lead the the enemy's respawn, hoping that perhaps...

 

**BEEP**

 

...nevermind.

 

Scout slowed to a halt just before the exit, pausing before sticking his head around the doorframe, before instantly jerking it back in.

 

In the half-second or so it had taken him to look, he had seen all that he needed. an Engineer, a Sniper...

...and a sentry.

 

Scout groaned. Freaking sentries. He'd have to take this one down if he had any hope of making it out of there with the Intelligence.

He reached into his pocket and brought out the blue can he'd put there earlier, a plan beginning to form in his mind.

 

He could do this.

 

Putting the Intelligence down against the wall, he opened the can, only to then down its contents in an instant.

Throwing the can over his shoulder, he grabbed his Shortstop out of his pocket and stepped out of the doorframe's cover.

 

The sentry beeped into action and the sniper pulled back his bowstring, pausing only for a second to aim before letting the wooden arrow loose.

 

And then, time slowed.

 

_1..._

 

The runner instantly sprinted into action, his mind and body kicked into a radiation fueled overdrive as time for him stretched out to an almost halt.

 

_2..._

 

Running, he avoided the sentry's rocket and went straight for its Engineer, firing off two of his four shots at him.

 

_3…_

 

Firing the remaining two shots, he opened the pistol's back and knocked out the used shells before slapping another two in.

 

_4…_

 

Jumping once, and then, his foot somehow finding purchase in thin air, he pushed off again, hopping over the gun too fast for its aiming systems to follow.

 

_5…_

 

While in mid-air, he fired his freshly reloaded gun at the turret, the shots making contact with the delicate wiring within the machine.

 

_6…_

 

Landing on the now maimed sentry, he slapped in another four shells into his gun before pushing off it towards the Sniper.

 

_7…_

 

Realising he only had two precious second of nigh-invincibility left, Scout changed plans mid-leap and landed just in front of the Australian, before shoving him off the edge of his perch into the chaos of battle below.

 

_8…_

 

Having taken down his opposition, he spun around and sprinted back to where he had left the Intelligence…

 

**TWACK**

 

Behind him, the Sniper's arrow embedded itself in the faded red wood of the wall, its deadly metal tip missing Scout by mere inches.

 

His mind now back in reality, he collapsed onto the ground, panting and sweating profusely. He had done it – now just to get back to _their_ intelligence room.

From behind him, there was a groan and suddenly, a bang as the dying Engineer fired off his pistol at the Scout, only for him to be silenced as the Scout fired off his own gun at the Engineer, sending him into the black void of respawn.

 

"Christ…" he swore, pulling himself back up and picking up the intelligence. He had to get moving – those eight seconds would be more than enough time for the Soldier and the Demoman to figure out where he was…

 

Right on cue, there was a ferocious yell from behind him as the Demoman charged up the slope, a _massive_ sword at the ready.

Letting out a yelp of surprise, Scout instantly took off towards the ledge where seconds earlier, the Sniper had been standing. Jumping off the ledge, and then again in the air, he landed on the bridges cover.

 

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the Soldier and his rocket just in time for it to explode directly behind him, with enough force to send him flying off the bridge and into the water below, but not quite enough to kill him.

 

For a single moment as he fell, the Scout could see the entire battle on the bridge unfold before him, every face, bullet and weapon clearly captured in his mind like a photograph. He could see their Medic and Heavy, both grinning madly as they pushed back the RED defenders, both of them too focused to notice the Spy that had just appeared behind them. Archimedes hovered above the battle like some blood stained white carrion crow,

 

And then, he hit the water.

 

He let out a scream, but through the water, all that came out was a muffled yelp. He floundered for a second, before breaking the surface, spluttering and gasping. Down here, it was almost eerily quiet, compared to the cacophony of war above.

 

Grabbing the intelligence from where it had fallen in the water, he saw up above him, sitting on the bridge support, a small, white form.

"Christ, you again?" He asked as he picked up the intelligence. "Dude, dont ya have anything better ta do than follow me? Like...bird shit or something?"

The dove just looked at him inquisitively, head tilted at an angle.

"I mean, seriously pal, cant't ya just go or something? Ya kinda creeping me out...no?"

The dove didn't move.

"Oh come on! shoo ya stoopid...duck! I'm fine, ya can leave me alone now! Go bug doc or something!" He reached into his pocket and withdrew a baseball and threw it at the bird, only for it to dodge the attack and settle back down on another support, this time closer to Scout.

 

"Mmmmm...Scrmhp?"

 

The Scout let out a yelp and spun around to find the Pyro standing at the sewer's entrance, blue neon sign in its hands as it watched the Bostonian rant at the bird.

 

"Trmhp m bmpd."

 

"Duh..." He stalled, trying to understand just what it was trying to say.

 

"Nmvmnph." The thing said, shrugging. "Gm d smthmg wmph tmhp." It pointed at the Intelligence in his hands, and then behind it, into the sewers.

 

Scout shrugged and swam over to the pipe's entrance and got out of the water, pausing to shake himself dry before continuing his sprint, looking back only to find, much to his dismay, the bird was _still_ following him.

Behind him, the Pyro shrugged and followed him.

 

* * *

 

They lost.

 

Kinda.

It had ended in a draw.

 

The intel missions at 2fort had _always_ ended in a draw, the reason being that if either team ever won there, the gravel wars would be over.

 

Scout didn't fully understand _why_ that was the case, but it had something to do with old bits of moldy paper and politics or some other boring crap like that.

 

He walked over to the fridge in the kitchen and pulled out a half eaten hot-dog out of it. Spy had called Medic and Engineer over for some 'top secret' meeting involving the breach, meaning that everyone else had the day off.

 

Currently, the plan (for everyone else not involved in top secret espionage) was for everyone else to trek down to the brickyard and have a round or two of PASS before the Admin yelled at the two teams for 'being friends with each other'.

 

But first, lunch.

 

Taking off his bag and dumping it on the table, Scout rummaged around in it in the hopes that he still had a can of _something_ still left in it.

Dumping out its contents on the table, he finally found a yellow can of Bonk!, along with enough guns and ammo to keep a small army happy.

And, a plushie of some sort.

 

Scout looked at the small blue toy for several seconds in confusion before remembering what had happened yesterday, before hurriedly stuffing it back in his bag. He had to give that back to Pyro before anyone noticed it.

 

Stuffing the hot-dog in his mouth, he looked around the kitchen for Pyro, only to realise that the firebug wasn't present.

 

Sighing and swallowing his mouthful, he opened the can and took a swig from it. That meant that it was either down in the workshop or in its room.

 

Electing to try Pyro's room first as it was closer, he set off in search of the firestarter.

It didn't take long for him to reach the corridor where everyone's rooms were located. The corridor was housed rooms for all nine members of the team, plus one spare room.

 

Of course, not everyone used their rooms – Sniper seemed to prefer sleeping in his van and Medic hardly ever used his, instead always falling asleep in the infirmary.

Walking past his, Soldier's and the spare room, he reached the Pyro's room.

 

Pausing for a moment, he considered his plan. He hadn't actually been in Pyro's room, and to the best of his recollection, no one else had either. he didn't really know what to expect, besides ponies, rainbows and _a lot_ of fire.

 

Of course, that was assuming it was even in there.

 

Taking a deep breath and summoning pretty much all his courage, he knocked on the door.

"Yo Py, ya in there?"

 

From within the room, there was a muffled thump and sudden yelp of pain, followed by some shuffling as the door opened and the blue suited figure of the Pyro appeared, rubbing the back of its head as it did so. Its mask was on crooked, as if it had hurriedly shoved the thing on and it had a book of some sort in its other half, its cover obscured by the thing's gloved hand.

"Scrmph!" It exclaimed, tucking the book under one arm as it straightened its mask.

 

"Erm...hi?" Scout said, still not quite sure how to speak to the thing. He stood there for a moment before his face lit up in recollection. "Oh yeah! Ya wanted me ta give ya this." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a letter that had somehow survived the war he'd been through unscathed.

 

The Pyro took the letter and looked at it for a moment, before turning it over and letting out a sound of...Scout had no idea what. The thing spun around and went back into the room, beckoning Scout as it did so.

 

Shrugging, Scout followed.

 

* * *

 

Pyro's room was...

...pretty much everything he had expected.

 

The room had been painted in pastel shades of blue, purple and green, along with most of the other decor in it. Almost everything was covered in some form of burnmark or soot, with few things left untouched by the pyromanic's powers.

 

The curtains were closed, making the only source of light a fluorescent light on the ceiling, bathing everything in a cyan glow.

To one side, just beside the window was a bed with pale blue covers, with several more pony plushies like the one in scouts bag scattered on it, along with a half-eaten wrapped burrito thing that was leaking bright red sauce onto a plate. Tucked underneath the bed were several propane bottles, along with a flamethrower and an impressive selection of axes.

 

Along the other side of the room was a large desk, divided _exactly_ down the middle between a surface scorched black with burn marks and a side that was a pristine pastel lavender, untouched by fire. The burnt side was covered in a complex web of glassware and crockery, with jars and bottles of liquids and powders stacked beneath and between them like coloured buildings amidst a glass jungle. To one side of that half was a thick, well worn notebook covered in countless stains from a thousand different chemicals and fires, open to a page that was covered in the same sort of strange diagrams that were on the back of the letter Scout had given Pyro.

The other half – the side completely untouched by the thing's obsession – was full of sketches of things that could only come from that delusion the team knew only as pyroland, drawings of ponies and other creatures rendered in a surprising lifelike (and uncanny) detail.

 

But while the room was almost weeping with the Pyro's personality, it lacked one thing. It had a strange lack of photographs, or anything else that could be used to discern _anything_ about the Pyro's past life or identity.

 

Scout frowned.

 

That was odd.

He had been in the rooms of Spy, Soldier and Demoman and they all had at least a few pictures of their family or friends, (or in Spy's case, their lover). Hell, even he had a photo of his brothers in his room. But here?

 

He looked around the room again and saw that there was one photoframe. It was on the desk, on the half not consumed by ashes.

Seeing that the Pyro was distracted with something on the other half of the desk, he wandered over to it.

 

Picking up the frame, he saw that there was a photo of some sort in it. It was a black and white photo of a group of six people, each one wearing a costume of some sort like some sort of superhero. They were all grinning broadly, but Scout couldn't help but think that they all looked like they'd rather be somewhere else, rather than posing for a picture.

 

Looking at it closer, his attention was draw to two figures to the left of the group. A man wearing a rubber suit similar to the one pyro wore now and a girl, not much older than fourteen, wearing a fireman's uniform. The man had on him an almost manic grin on him, with the girl's face mirroring his own expression. What caught his eye though, was what the man was holding. He held a flamethrower, with a familiar dragon design on its muzzle.

 

Scout turned around to face the Pyro, the picture in his hands only to find that the firebug was staring at him, a beaker of some clear liquid in its hands.

"This of you?" He asked, pointing to the picture.

 

The firestarter was silent for a moment before nodding and putting the beaker down, making sure that it was placed on the burnt side of the desk.

"So...which one's you?"

 

The thing took the picture out of the Scout's hands and looked at it for a long moment, before reaching up and putting a hand to the back of its mask as if to remove it…

 

...before letting out a long, almost melancholy sigh and letting its arms and head drop.

"Mmhby nmmph dmhm…" It muttered, putting the photo down on the untouched side of the desk. Scout couldn't understand what it said through its mask, but it sounded almost...sad.

 

They stood there silent for a moment, before Scout suddenly remembered why he was here in the first place.

 

"So," He said, getting his bag off his back and removing the item. "I bought ya pony back." He offered it to the firebug.

It looked at it from a few seconds before pushing Scout's hand and the offered toy back.

 

"Ymph kmph mt." Its voice seemed to perk up a little through its mask. "Ymph nrrmh it mrrm thrph mh."

 

"Uh…" He paused, understanding the gesture. "thanks?...I guess?" He cleared his throat, only realising now how much airborne ash there was in the room. "I gotta go now...gotta go with Rick an' find wherever the hell soldier put the jack _last_ time we played." The Pyro nodded and patted Scout on the head.

"Uh...cya!" He said, turning and waving back at the Pyro as he ran out of the room, still holding the pony.

 

The thing shrugged and turned back to its work.

 

* * *

 

**You found:**

The Pint sized Pocket Pony

_Loyalty paint_

_**Level 17...pony? plush?** _

 

_Equipable by All_

* * *

 

changelog 14-7-16

+added chapter

 

//I do believe I am the first person to work in the shortstop's new 'push' ability into a story. hooray?


	3. The Biohazard

_Now loading pass_brickyard..._

* * *

 

"Freaking hell…" Nate swore, kicking up a small cloud of dust as he did so. "Where the hell is that goddamn ball?!"

 

"I know right?! I swear, this is the _last_ time we let Soilder _anywhere_ near the goddamn jack." Rick replied from his perch up above, on one of the steel beams criss-crossing the map. "Ya tried over there?"

 

"'Course I 'ave. the thing ain't here pal." Nate grumbled, looking up at his companion. "Who the freaking hell knows where that idiot put it.

 

"Well then, what the freaking hell are we gonna do? We promised we'd get this sorted out so we could play…"

 

"Ya think they'd be fine with baseball?" Nate's eyes lit up at the idea. "I mean, if Doc an' Spy an' Hardhat came along, we'd have a full team! The Admin could be the umpire an' we could 'ave a game!" He waved his arms about in excitement, his accent slipping slightly back into his natural Bostonian accent.

 

"That would be _awesome!_ " The RED Scout agreed. "Buuuut, ya really think thats gonna work? I mean, we know happened last time we tried that."

 

"That was 'cause Snipes and Demo thought we were playing something else."

 

"Yeah, but still...hey, wait a sec…"

 

"What!? Ya see the jack?!"

 

"Nah, I see something else. Get up here an' I'll show you."

 

"Already ahead of ya." He said, taking off his bag and rummaging around in it. "Check out what _I_ brought!" He exclaimed, taking something out of it a displaying it proudly above his head.

 

"Dude...a grappling hook? How the freaking hell did ya sneak _that_ past ol' Hardhat?" He asked, envy in his voice.

 

"Heh...long story." Nate said, equipping the thing and firing it. "But tell me what ya saw up here first."

 

"Well, ya see over there?" He pointed off towards the RED section of the map. "There's someone over there."

 

"Eh, probably just one of them suits from administration. They seem ta be everywhere nowadays."

 

"Nah, I don't think so. They wouldn't be 'round here. This ain't a mission map."

 

"Maybe one of us should go check." The BLU Scout readied his grappling hook. "You go 'round on the roof and back me up. I'm going in."

 

Frederick nodded and took off along the steel beam they were on, jumping onto the building it was connected to.

Meanwhile, Nathaniel fired the grappling hook downwards, sending him hurtling towards the ground, using his momentum to push himself forwards when he hit the ground with a sickening crunch.

Weaving his way through the map with a practised ease, he reached the RED goal and the clearing before it, where the figure had been standing.

The person was still there and Scout paused for a second before going in order to gauge the figure.

 

It was a man with blond hair and a white biohazard suit, giving Scout the distinct impression of uncontrollable danger that he picked up only from the fire retardant suit of the pyro. On his arms were a pair of black bands, with an orange biohazard symbol on it, in a way reminiscent of the RED and BLU's own emblems. The man was holding a black tranquilliser gun similar in design to Medic's crossbow in one hand and had the helmet to his suit tucked under one armpit.

 

"Hey, ya lost or something pal?" Scout asked, walking over to the man.

The white figure instantly spun around to face the Scout, his gun at the ready.

 

" _Shit_!" The man swore, his voice panicked and high pitched. Scout could see his face fully now and it was now he realised that the person wasn't actually that much older than him, bright blue eyes filled with a youthful optimism innocence that had yet to dulled by the hard edge of life. An innocence Scout himself had lost years ago.

But that wasn't what Scout concentrated on. What he saw was fear. It made his aim quiver and his forehead sweat.

 

It was a fear that Scout knew he could use against him.

 

He squeaked something in German and waved the gun at the Scout, his voice so high pitched it was nearly inaudible.

 

"Whoa, whoa, calm down dude." The Scout called, throwing up his hands to show he was only armed with a grappling hook.

 

The young man swallowed nervously and took a deep breath.

"You're not meant to be here." He said, not lowering his gun.

 

"And neither you pal. Now, who the freaking hell are ya an' why are ya here?"

 

"You're the Scout aren't you?" He asked, retraining his gun. His voice had a curious tone to it that sounded reminiscent of Medic's heavy German dialect, but also contained hints of a French accent like Spy's. "The Commander told me about you."

 

The Commander.

 

At the very mention of the man, Scout paled.

"The...Commander?" He asked, all his previous confidence and coolness gone. He couldn't be here.

 

Couldn't he?

 

He took a step backwards, his mind working furiously. If this man was with the Commander, that meant he was working with Black Mesa and that meant…

 

"Frederick!" He yelled into his mike, slamming a hand to the yellow headset to activate it. "Get outta here! NOW! Therespawnisdownan _he_ ish–"

 

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." Another voice said as the sound of footsteps sounded behind the Scout. "Call this...a house visit by our doctor here."

 

"Oh shit…" Scout slowly swore. He didn't need to turn around to see who was behind him.

 

The black and orange form of the commander walked out form behind him, green eyes watching the Scout intently from under his silver hair.

"Then again, Bio isn't a doctor. But that doesn't stop Josef or Hans, does it hmmm?" he flashed the Scout a charismatic smile. "Isn't that right?"

The man scout now identified as Bio nodded nervously.

 

"Now, what's that you have on you?" Scout was powerless to act as the man took ahold of the arm encased in his grappling hook. "A grapple hook? Whatever will Dell think of next? Can't predict those Engineers you know? His grandfather and his father were the same. Always pulling amazing technologies out of his ass so fast me and Helen could barely keep up. You would not _believe_ how hard it was to keep the game balanced with him on the team." he laughed at the memory. "Too bad that was what got him in the end. But that's a story I'll leave for Linus to tell, not me."

 

"Helen?" Scout echoed, confused and too scared to say anything else.

 

"Of course, she calls herself the Administrator nowadays. Ever since she took over _my_ _job_." He spat. "But I'm not here for that – that would be _petty_ of me. I'm here because I have another job now. And well, a job's a job, y'know? you're a mercenary, aren't you? You understand don't you?" After seeing that Scout wasn't going to respond, he continued. "Of course, I digress. Bio?"

 

"Y-yes boss?"

 

"Do the thing already. Even _being near_ this kid tires me out. Jesus, what is it with you Scouts?"

 

"The thing? You mean…"

 

"Yes, I mean that. Why else are you here?"

 

"Vhat about your orders?"

 

"My orders are _my_ business Bio, not yours. _Your_ orders come from me, and your current order Biohazard is to pump this little freak of nature with enough of your viruses to give that nazi who calls himself a doctor a run for his deutschmarks."

 

"They're pathogens…and I'm pretty sure the Medic _is_ a doctor..." The Bio muttered.

 

"Bio…" The Commander warned.

 

"Fine. step away from him." He said, taking his helmet from where it was tucked under his arm and putting it on.

 

"Hold on a second. _This_ will have to go. And tell Dell I'm sorry for breaking his little toy." His grip on the Scout's grappling hook suddenly impossibly tightened, as his armour assisted strength overcame the metal of the weapon, crushing it into the Scout's hand. The Scout shrilly screamed as his grappling hook, along with his wrist broke.

The Commander abruptly dropped the runner's mangled hand, and walked off to the side to observe what happened next.

Scout clutched his maimed right hand, blood slowly dripping off the disfigured mess of steel and flesh and bandages that had once been a hand.

 

"Vhy did I even agree to this?" The suited man muttered from behind his helmet.

 

"Hey dickhead! Whatever happened ta 'Scouts come in pairs'?! Bonk!"

All three men suddenly looked up just in time to see Nate's red döppleganer jump off his perch on the top of the RED base on to the armoured form of the Commander.

 

"Sorry pal I took so long." Rick apologised, jumping off the fallen form of the Commander and running over to Nate.

 

"Rick!" The Scout exclaimed, relief tinting his voice. He wasn't alone here anymore.

 

"Yeah, it's me pal. Can ya hold a gun? 'Cause this is gonna shitfaced pretty damn fast if ya ask me." Nate nodded and Rick passed him his pistol. "Just focus on the Bio guy pal. I'll take care of the Commander."

 

"Alright…" Nate swallowed as he took the gun in his left hand and turned to face the Bio. Through his hazmat helmet, Scout could see that his fear from before had not abated a single bit, terrified blue eyes staring back at him like he was some monster.

Making a mental note to go easy on the guy, the Scout took in a deep breath. This would be easy. Just a simple bullet to the kid's head and it would be over. Rick would take care of the Commander and this nightmare would be over.

 

Finally.

 

"Ready."

 

"Then GO!" The two scouts took off from their back to back position, running full tilt towards their opponents.

 

Nate ran, but instead of strafing to the left or right like anyone else would, he jumped, and then at the top of his arc, he jumped again, clearing the Bio's head.

Twisting his body midair to face the man, he fired off a shot into his right shoulder, causing him to emit a terrified squeal of pain and drop his weapon.

He let out another shot, this time to the man's head and he collapsed.

Landing on the ground behind the now dead Bio, Scout walked over to the corpse and stared down at it, with only the slightest pang of remorse. The kid probably didn't deserve it, but then again, Scout didn't become a mercenary by having a conscience.

Scout looked up from the corpse to the other battle, only to see the other Scout still fighting the commander.

 

And froze.

 

The Commander was turned with his back to Nate, too distracted by Frederick to notice him.

His grip tightened on the pistol as his mind slowly formulated a plan. He had nine bullets left. He only needed to put one through the man's unprotected head to kill him.

 

He could do this, couldn't he?

Lifting the gun up, he aimed at the Commander's unarmoured head.

 

And fired.

 

A single shot, crackling with an unearthly blue energy left the barrel, only to strike Scout's target moments later.

There was a moment of silence as the Commander froze, his mind having its last thought before falling to the ground.

Nathaniel stood there for a long few seconds, pistol outstretched in his left hand as his mind processed what he had done.

And then lowering his gun, he grinned.

 

"...and don't you _ever_ cross me again ya son of a bitch!" He yelled, all his terror of the man suddenly gone. He had done it. The man was dead and everything would return to normal. Everything would be just like it was meant to.

His grin widened as suddenly, he laughed. Not in the jeering way that he was used to doing to the corpses of the other team, or the bouts of giddy happiness from when his gun's power got to his head, but rather in an uncontrollable wave that washed over him and his mind, swamping everything else. He stayed like that for almost a minute, maniacally laughing while Rick watched, a confused and concerned expression on his face.

 

"Uh...Nate?"

 

"Yeah Rick?" He turned to his companion, his laughter finally ceasing.

 

"Bodies aren't meant ta fade, are they?"

 

"Dude, what the freaking hell dya mean? Of course they…" His voice trailed off as he caught sight of what Rick had been staring at. "Oh shit."

 

"Oh shit." The RED Scout agreed.

 

"Then that means…" Nate trailed off, staring at the slowly fading corpse of the Commander. He snapped his head around to look for the body of the Bio, only to find that it was gone, along with any trace of his presence on the map.

 

"They have respawn."

 

* * *

 

changelog 18-7-16

 

\+ added chapter


	4. A bit of respect

"...they have respawn…" The Scout said, echoing the revelation that had occurred an hour earlier out on the dry, dusty map of brickyard.

He stood in front of six mercenaries unflinchingly, painfully aware of the eyes trained upon him with skepticism and uncertainty. The pain in his hand, once sharp and all-consuming, had faded now to a dull ache in the back of his mind – dull enough to let him think clearly, but still refusing to let itself be ignored.

 

"Scoots, are ya ab-sol-ut-ly sure? Ah mean–"

 

"Look pal," Rick suddenly cut in from where he was standing beside Nate. "I know what I freaking saw, an' so does Nate. I don't know how an' I don't know why, but _they have respawn_."

 

"Look you two, ah don't think ya fully understand what ya sayin' here." The RED Engineer said, lifting his goggles up and taking a good long look at the two scouts. "Respawn's our best kept secret since tha team began way back when."

 

"Then, what the fuck did we see? Ya sayin' we're fucking delusional?" Nate exclaimed, desperation tinting his voice.

 

"Perhaps."

 

"My god, who the fucking hell do ya think we are? Pyro? An' if it was some fuckin' dellusion, how did _this_ happen?!" Nate pointed a finger at the ruined mess of his hand, the wound having long since scabbed over into a dark red and silver bloodied amalgam of flesh and metal. From the further end of the table, Scout could hear the two Medics wince as the caught sight of the injury.

 

"Ah don't know an' frankly, ah'm more wonderin' _why do ya have mah grappling hook?_ "

 

" _Linus_." A smooth, accented voice sounded from the left side of the table as the blue suited form of a spy stood up and walked over to the two Scouts. "Why are you so quick to dismiss these two? Zhey are _Scouts_. Zhis is zheir job."

 

"'Cause they ain't exactly tha most reliable of sources. An' what they're sayin' is _crazy._ "

 

"On zhe contrary, it makes _perfect_ sense. As Team Fortress Industries, we have had respawn for how long? Fifty years? Sixty? More I think. It was only a matter of time before one of our competitors copied our technology."

 

"But...how?"

 

"'How' isn't zhe question you should be asking Linus. It is too late to worry about 'how'. Non, zhe question you should be asking is _what_. What does this mean for our little war?"

The room lapsed into silence as they waited for the Spy to answer his question.

"This...new development is both a blessing and a curse for us. It shuffles the deck of this little war. It shuffles the deck into _our_ favor." He let out a sly grin and turned to the scouts. "You two can go now. We need to re-plan our defences." There was a synchronised groan from the two medics as he said this.

 

"But–" Rick tried to say, but the Spy silenced him with a finger.

 

"You two. _Dismissed._ "

 

* * *

 

"Man, can you freaking believe those dumbasses?" The Scout exclaimed, slamming the respawn locker door. "not believing me I mean. I mean, seriously people? Ser–" Scout froze as he turned around only to find that he was alone in the room.

Blinking, he looked around for his audience again, and once again finding no one there.

 

He frowned. He could've _sworn_ someone was here before.

Sighing, he turned his attention back to his hand. As Medic and Engineer were still in their meeting, he had to find some other way to deal with his injury, and that meant bandaging it up and hope it didn't become infected or worse until the doctor came back.

 

Awkwardly wrapping the wound up in white gauze using his free hand and his mouth, he exited the respawn room in search for the rest of the team and someone to rant to.

 

Making his way the common room, he found the rest of the team gathered around in it. Demoman was sitting on the couch, watching some TV drama as his sword dryliy commented on every ridiculous thing happening on screen. Heavy sat in one corner of the room at a small table, focusing intently on the game of cards spread out before him. At the main table sat Sniper, Soldier and Pyro. The firebug had out a sheet of paper and was drawing something in crude orange crayon as the Sniper watched on the other side of the table, presumably making sure the pyromaniac didn't set anything on fire. Soldier on the other hand, didn't seem to be too concerned about the Pyro and was instead looking down at his helmet, which was sitting inverted on the table, something small, white and fluffy in its bowl.

 

"Bloody hell. Looks who's finally arrived." Sniper muttered, his eyes unreadable through his silver mirrored aviators.

 

"What? That a bad thing or something pal?" Scout demanded, taking out a purple can from his pocket and sitting down next to the Pyro.

 

"Well, 'was hopin' we could 'ave a _few_ more minutes of quiet 'fore you came 'round."

 

"Dude, what the freaking hell does that mean?"

 

"Means nothing." The Sniper mumbled, getting up and going over to the room's bookcase.

Realising that he wasn't going to get any more conversation out of the sniper, Scout took another drink from his can and turned to the Pyro. The thing had out before it several blank sheets of paper, along with the entire contents of a crayon box and a blue lighter. The paper before it seemed to absorb all its attention, and Scout peered over its shoulder in an attempt to see what it was drawing.

Slightly bemused, his eyes flicked from the Pyro to the picture and then back again. It appeared to be drawing a dragon of some sort, but with the thing's crude style it could've just as easily been a pegasus or a bird or some other blue winged thing – a far cry from the almost lifelike pencil drawings he had seen in the Pyro's room.

 

"Uh...hey Py."

The Pyro turned its head around and started when it found Scout sitting right next to it.

 

"Scrmph!" it exclaimed, quickly recovering from its scare.

 

"Yeah...its me…" He was suddenly cut off as the firebug launched into a giant bear hug, almost suffocating the Scout as it lifted him clean off his chair.

 

"Jesus…" He gasped as the firebug's grip on him threatened to crush his lungs. "Ya...killin'...me…"

The Pyro, suddenly aware of its mistake, dropped the Scout back into his seat and hurriedly sat down. It looked almost expectantly at the Scout for a few seconds before shrugging and picking its crayon back up.

The Scout lent back in his chair and watched the Pyro continue its drawing with a detached interest. The thing seemed to be unable to keep its focus on the drawing for more than a minute at a time, its attention constantly wandering from its paper to the television, the lighter behind it and whatever was in Soldier's helmet.

Sighing, the Scout picked up one of the blank sheets of paper off the table beside the Pyro and inspected it.

 

His attention was torn from the paper as the Sniper sat back down at the table, one of Medic's philosophy books in his hand.

 

"So, what do you mean?"

 

"Wot?"

 

"I said," The Scout let the chair land back on all four of its legs. "What do you mean?" He turned his head back to the paper, tearing it into a square before continuing the discussion. "About ''aving a few more minutes quiet'?"

 

"Bloody persistent aren't ya?" The Sniper muttered, trying to ignore the Scout. "It ain't any of ya concern Scout."

 

"An' why the freaking hell not? Do ya really think ya can just say whatever the freaking hell ya want about me an' get away with it?"

 

"Yes." He flatly responded.

 

"...wow. Seriously dude? Seriously? Would ya do that to anyone else here? Or is it just me?" The Sniper opened his mouth to respond, but the Scout cut him off before he could get a single word in. "'course it's just me. It always is, isn't it? Ya need Doc an' Hardhat, ya too scared of Py an' Sol and ya can't insult the rest of the freakin' team 'cause unlike me, ya respect them."

 

"Scout, look." The Sniper removed his sunglasses and looked at Scout with teal blue eyes. "I don't know _what_ ya think of yaself, but it means jack shit out 'ere. Ya a good scout Nate, but ya also just a kid. Ya–"

 

" _Just a kid._ " Scout repeated, his voice suddenly strained and quite. " _Just a goddamn kid._ "

 

"Scout what–" Sniper began to say, recognising that something was off with his voice, but the runner cut in before could finish.

 

" _I'm twenty three years old!_ " He yelled, his composure evaporating in an instant as he got up and slammed his fist onto the table before him. "And if it wasn't for that goddamn respawn, I'd fucking look it too!"

 

"Look–"

 

"No Snipes, you shut up an' listen. Do you know _why_ I'm on this fucking team in the first place? Its 'cause out of all the mercs out there, _I'm_ the freaking best there ever was! So, for ya to turn around an' say that ya can insult me _when I'm one of deadliest mercs on this goddamn planet_ is real insultin' in itself. So listen up pal and listen up good – I ain't _just a kid_. I'm a goddamn mercenary and if it wasn't for this fucking team, you'd be _dead!_ " He gave a snort of disgust. "This entire fuckin' team's the same. I'm just some _kid_ who ya can all ignore 'cause I'm some sort of fucking retard. I'm just some idiot who ya all wish would stop talking. Well, I got news for ya chucklenuts – _this is a fucking team! Ya gotta deal with me!_ "

The room suddenly fell into silence, the only noise being the heavy in and out of the Scout's breath as he glared at the sniper, steel blue eyes full of fury.

 

As he broke the eye contact, he glared around the room to find everyone staring at him. Even the Pyro had stopped its drawing, looking up at the Scout with the same unfathomable face of glass and rubber it always wore.

 

And the, without another word, he stormed off.

 

* * *

 

 

"Freaking _idiots!_ "

 

**SNAP**

 

The Scout swore something under his breath as he slowly opened his closed fist to examine the now broken pencil in it. Throwing the pieces over his shoulder, he looked up in search of another pencil.

Locating one in a box that had been pushed to the corner of the desk, he turned his attention back to the sheet of paper before him.

 

He didn't know what he was drawing. The mess of grey scribbles had started life as the curves of a topological map, but the lines had soon began to merge into each other as the doodles that filled the margins slowly overflowed into the map and took over the blank white void of unused paper. Sighing, he absentmindedly corrected the perspective of one of the doodles – a sketch of their base at coldfront, before starting the outlines of what was to be someone's face.

 

Behind him, there was a creak as someone pushed open the door to his room and then he was suddenly acutely aware of the Pyro standing behind him, the smell of smoke and unidentifiable chemicals alerting the Scout to his visitors identity.

 

"Go away Py." He muttered, not turning around to face the firebug. "I don't need a pony."

The pyromaniac however, did not move away. It let out what mightve been a sigh and put a gloved hand on the Scout's shoulder. It remained like that for several moments, before something else caught its eyes.

 

"Hrrmph?" It asked questioningly, pointing at a corner of Scout's paper, where his original map was still visible.

 

"That?" Scout asked, pointing a pencil at the collection of lines. "Thats a map."

 

"Ymph hm mrprhs?"

 

"Uh...yeah?" Scout cleared his throat and sketched a little more onto it. "It's a topa-somthing map. Shows how high the...things are." he shrugged. "Dunno what they're called - I ain't a map expert. Here. I got a better one 'round here somewhere…" Leaning over to his left, he opened a set of draws that were tucked under the desk and pulled out a roll of paper. Pushing his earlier work aside, he unrolled it as the Pyro leaned in over his shoulder.

The paper contained a large and intricate map of New Mexico, with its vast expanse dotted with small cities and roads. The state was roughly divided in two by a pair of red and blue lines, with patches of grey and purple placed seemingly at random breaking the line up in places.

 

"That's us." He said, pointing to a purple patch on the red/blue border, which perfectly intersected it, along with a small heading that read '2FORT'. "The red's what...well what RED has. Ditto for the blue. Purple is contested," He pointed at 2fort and another patch further north labeled Gravelpit. "An' grey is neutral." he pointed at the cities of Teufort and Santa Fe, which were in patches of grey.

 

The Pyro let out a low whistle and leaned in closer to the map. The line dividing the state looked like it had been erased and redrawn many times, and it followed roads, town borders and map boundaries. Places of interest had been drawn in black pen, with labels that were surprisingly neat for the Scout's (supposed) illiteracy.

 

"Pretty neat huh?" Scout asked, pride in his voice. "Been workin' on it since day one. _And_ I got one for all the other places. Bet not even _Spy_ has a map _this_ good."

 

"whmph hbmm _thmmph?_ " The Pyro asked, pointing at something on the map.

Scout leaned in closer and saw that the Pyro was pointing at a place of interest, marked with a small odd shaped symbol and a nametag that read 'Black Mesa Research'.

 

"Oh that?" He let out a smirk. "Oh man, I better change that." Opening another drawer, he pulled out an orange pencil and a rubber and began to erase the blue that surrounded the facility. Within a few minutes, he had fixed the map so that the facilities borders were now within an orange patch. "And there. Hope it doesn't grow any bigger."

 

"Hmm…" The Pyro said in what might have been agreement.

The Scout sighed and turned back to the map.

 

"Man, I need to update this - I mean, they're building a new road an' I haven't even _started_ on the new bases in Santa Fe…" He leant back over to his drawers and pulled out another map, this time with an official looking seal on it. Smoothing it out next to the larger map, he began to sketch something in, using the smaller sheet as a reference.

 

"Scrmph?"

 

"Hmmm?"

 

"Mhdmph mphtmh tm hrrm pm."

 

"Duh…" Scout looked up at the Pyro, his mind only able to pick out a few words through its muffled speech. "Medic? What 'bout him? He wants to see me?" The Pyro nodded.

Scout paused, looking from the unfinished map to his injured hand and then back at Pyro.

 

"Fine." He sighed, rolling the map back up and putting it away. "I better go then. That includes you too smokes. I ain't leavin' ya and ya pyromania alone in 'ere." He gave a small grin, hoping that the thing didn't take his comment the wrong way.

The thing gave a short, bitter laugh that even though its mask, seemed to lack any humor before trailing the Scout of his room.

 

* * *

 

changelog 28-7-16

\+ added chapter

 

/whelp, this took much longer than expected. mind you, I did take a small break to work on a short and to do some groundwork for another (non-TF2) fic. also, these chapters are getting harder and harder to write.


	5. Back where I'm from...

"Scout, _vill you stop moving_?" The Medic demanded as he tried to remove another shard of metal from the runner's crushed hand, only to have him jerk it away at the last minute.

 

The Scout didn't say anything in response, but looked down at the frightening array of sharp, metal instruments laid out beside the doctor, and then back up at the Medic himself. As much as he wanted his hand to be fine again, scout didn't really like the idea of letting himself _willingly_ go under the knife of a doctor with questionable sanity.

Yes, he'd done this a million times before, and chances were it would happen a million times again, but it didn't make the trepidation go away.

Or the pain.

The Medic, done with trying to be nice to the Scout, rolled his eyes and grabbed the Scout's injured wrist.

The Scout let out a high pitched yelp of pain and tried to pull his hand out of the doctor's surprisingly strong grip, only for the action to rip out a large piece of metal from his hand.

The Medic swore something in German as he inspected his own hand where the metal had now embedded itself, before pulling it out and pulling it on the small pile of other metal shards like it besides him.

Grumbling something under his breath, the German turned his attention back to the American before him. The Scout was cradling his maimed hand, blood staining his blue shirt dark red as the wound bled freely at an alarming rate from where the metal shard had been extracted. The Scout was beginning to tear up from the pain, an odd expression on his face as he tried to keep back a scream of pain.

Finally getting the medigun from where it lay behind the him, the Medic trained its blue beam on the Scout. He'd been hoping that he wouldn't have to use the device, mainly because he'd been starting to run low on the gas that fueled the device and synthesising more of it would require him to get his hands on some Australium and _that_ was a chore in itself.

But if he just let the runner bleed out to death in here, the Administrator would yell at him again and then he'd have to figure out a way to keep the doves away from the corpse as it went back through respawn…

The effect of the gun was instantaneous - the hand instantly began to heal, flesh and skin crawling over the exposed metal like some sort of alien virus as the bleeding slowed to a halt.

Flicking something on the medigun, the bright azure beam dimmed to a dull blue trickle as the Medic out down the forceps he had been holding to pick up a (surprisingly clean looking) scalpel.

 

"Whoa!" The Scout exclaimed, his attention suddenly torn from his freshly healed hand. He pulled his hand away from the scalpel wielding doctor and out of the range of the medigun. "Dude, what the freaking hell are ya gonna do with that?! My hand's _fine!_ See?" He flexed his hand, only for him to let out a yelp of pain as the metal still in his hand tore at the freshly healed ligaments underneath his skin.

The Scout cringed in pain as he stuck his hand back under the beam of the medi-gun, and back into the range of the medic's blade.

The Medic sighed and using his left hand to steady his cutting surface, he sliced open the freshly healed skin on the Scout's hand. The skin split, revealing red flesh as the incision curiously didn't bleed. A few more bloodless slices and the Medic had laid out the inside of his hand like a cut of meat on a butcher's table.

Scout cringed as he watched the doctor pick up a pair of tweezers and began to tease a twisted piece of metal out. It didn't hurt, but he could feel the sharp edge of the scalpel digging into his flesh. That combined with the sight of his hand laid out before him like some anatomical diagram made his stomach lurch and the scout forced himself to look away. Even then, it took all his willpower to keep the bile and the screaming down.

 

"So," The Medic said, dropping another blood stained metal fragment into the pile. "Vhat vas zhat about?"

 

"What? Ya mean what happened with Snipes?"

 

"Ya. Vi could hear you two in the conference room."

 

"Eh, he deserved it." Scout said, glad to have something to distract him from his hand. "Dude called me a kid. Said he could insult me an' shit 'cause of that. Can't freaking believe 'im. I mean, come one! If I wanted ta be insulted an' shit, I woulda stayed home! I mean," The Scout's voice lost some of momentum as he let out a breath. "I had six freaking brothers. Ya really think that after freaking _years_ of havin' ta put up with 'em, I'm gonna be _fine_ with ya callin' me names and shit?"

The Medic let out a 'hmm' and examined Scout's hand for any bits of metal he might have missed. While he didn't particularly want to hear Scout's entire backstory, he was fine with it if it meant that the runner wasn't screaming his head off.

And anyways, it could be worse. He could be listening to one of Soldier's rants as he tried his best not to punch the man in the face or another one of the Pyro's delusional mumblings as he tried his best to figure out what was reality and what was a fabrication of its deranged mind.

"But I mean," The Scout continued. "Calling me a kid? That's just insulting. Ya really think I've worked all this way, an' made a name for myself only for you guys ta call me a kid? You guys are all the same. Ya call me names. Ya don't take me seriously. Hell, _no one_ takes me seriously. 'Cept the Admin." He sighed. "Hell, that's what all my brothers thought an' look who got the last laugh there?" He let out a dry laugh, devoid of any humor. "Said I was too chicken. Said I was gonna come crawling back to my ma' in a week. Well, lemme tell ya doc, they didn't see me again for another freaking four years! An' that was when I went ta tell my ma' I got this job!" He waved at the room with his free hand. "Man, you would not _believe_ how freaking glad I was ta be outta that house. Didn't even tell anyone. Just got my shit together and left on the next bus outta Boston."

The Medic looked up from trying to reconstruct Scout's hand with curiosity. _This_ was new.

"Spent 'bout a month dickin' around Massachusetts 'fore I went cross-state. Then I just kinda...wandered. Maybe spent a week or two in one spot here or there, doin' an' odd job or two 'fore I moved on."

The Medic turned back to his medigun and flicked one of its switches and the carefully reconstructed muscles and ligaments of the scouts hands fused back together, skin crawling over the breaks and incisions, restoring the appendage back to its original state.

The Scout however, didn't seem to notice. He just continued speaking, too lost in his story. The Medic pulled up a stool and a sandvich from his fridge and sat down to continue listening.

"Got my first real break 'bout...three months in. Was down south somewhere and this lady approached me. Asked me if I knew how ta use a gun. Said yeah, 'course I do, You'd be _dead_ if ya didn't know how ta use a gun where I'm from. An' so she gave me a job. Told me there was this guy an' I was ta kill 'im. An' so I went an' did just that. Had this pistol I nicked off some dude 'bout a month back in California and never really used. An' I swear, it was like I found my callin' or some shit like that. An' that, was when I decided I wanted ta be a merc." The Scout, realising that the doctor had finished, leaned back on the operating table he was sitting on and pulled out a purple can of crit-a-cola from his pocket.

"Was hard at first. No one thought I was for real an' ammo was kinda hard ta find. But over time, I kinda built up a name, y'know? I was fast an' I was good at the job. Wasn't until I was about... sixteen when I realised just how stupid I was. Nearly got caught by the cops over some stupid detail I should'a picked up on. An' that, was when I changed. Told myself I had ta be smarter and be faster. Told myself I had ta be a professional. I couldn't let myself get caught over some stupid mistake again. Another year passed an' I decided I had enough of wanderin' around. So, I decided ta try my luck in New York. And man, lemme tell ya doc, New York was fucking _insane!_ A freaking clusterfuck of _everything!_ And man, don't even get me started on the _vigilantes!_ Heroes my freaking ass! They were as bad as us! Nearly got caught by one of them freaks once. It was freaking _unreal!_ The dude was dressed like a freaking owl I think an' he had this ship and it was _insane!_ " The Scout let out another laugh, but this time it was filled with genuine humor as he recalled the memory.

"So yeah...more time went by an' by the time the Admin asked me if I wanted a bigger job, I was pretty famous.…Aaaand I think I had the mob after me." The Scout shrugged. "I kinda pissed off a lot of people." The Scout drained his can and leaned forwards. "Well then. Guess we're done here then." He flexed his freshly healed hand before hopping off the table and fetching his bag from where it lay beside it. "So...what was that meeting thing about anyways? Anything good happen?" He asked, pulling out a roll of bandages and wrapping his hand up in its coverings.

 

"Nein. spy vas pretentious as usual vhen he knows nothing about our enemy. Zhe entire thing vas an utter waste of time." Medic sighed. "...but he vill be back at it tomorrow." He snorted. "I take it you did not find zhe jack?"

 

"What? Nah. 'reckon sol' hid it somewhere in the base."

 

"Hmm...how has your leg been?"

 

"My leg?" The Scout paused for a moment before remembering. "Oh that! Eh, its been fine. Hurts after respawn, but it's fine. 'Cept that freaking scar won't go away. Can ya do something about it? 'Cause respawn ain't doing shit for it."

 

The Medic shook his head.

"If respawn does nothing to it, zhen I'm sorry, but it's going to be permanent." He said, without a single trace of sympathy in his voice. "Zhe injury happen vhen zhe system vas down, so it von't heal it."

 

"Damn...well, I guess chicks dig scars, so it ain't that big a deal." He grinned and walked over to the door, pausing only to grab his hat from the hat stand. "Well, cya doc!"

 

And with that, he left.

 

* * *

 

changelog 1-8-16

\+ added chapter

 

/shorter chapter because why not?

//WALL OF TEXT TIME! ...squids is sorry. so sorry.

/so...how did I go with scout's backstory? good? bad? tell me in the comments bellow! because I honestly have no idea!


	6. It could've been great

The atmosphere in the base seemed to lighten as scout stepped out of the infirmary. His hand still twinged in pain a little from its recent operation, but besides that he felt fine. Great even.

 

A first since the entire black mesa thing had started. 

 

Tomorrow was a Sunday and that meant an entire day off to do whatever he felt like doing. Sure, it also meant everything in the town of Teufort would be closed and Spy would try and drag him off to church, but to hell with that frenchman and his plans.  _ He  _ was going to spend the Sunday like every other – doing  _ nothing _ .

 

But, putting his hands in his pocket and making his way to the stairs that lead out of the basement, he turned his mind to the present. He still had the rest of today to get through. He knew dinner wouldn’t be for another hour and after what had happened in the common room, he was pretty sure his presence wouldn't be taken well there. Walking up the stairs, he came out to the main corridor of the base. 

 

The corridor was empty, and as he walked by the door to the common room, scout could see why. The rest of the team was still in there, with the addition of the Pyro and the Engineer. Passing by the door without incident, he moved on past the kitchen, the bathroom and the stairwell to upstairs and their bedrooms before reaching the door on the far end that lead to the outside of the base and the map proper.

 

Pushing it open without a second thought, the Scout found himself in the landing that their spawn room overlooked. All the blood from the morning's battle was gone, leaving the faded cement walls and floors the same dusty blue they had been on day one. The sun was low on the horizon, casting the BLU base in shadow as the decrepit red wood of the enemy base stood directly in its path.

 

From over here, the RED base looked abandoned, its forlorn façade hiding the activity of its occupants.

 

Fishing a purple can of soda out from his bag, the Scout made his way to the front of the landing, where their sniper usually hid while in battle. Sitting down on the buildings edge so that his legs dangled over the drop, he opened his can and sat there, contemplating the moment. The scorching midsummer heat that plagued New Mexico during the day was easing up, making way for the cooler temperatures of night. The sky, once a brilliant shade of cloudless azure, was now undertoned with the pinks and yellows of the incoming dusk that had already begun to tint the aether. A few stray wisps of cloud floated in the sky, their feathery surfaces a pale pearl pink. The map was silent, its usual cacophony of gunfire and shouts absent in the late hours.

 

The Scout let out a long sigh and took a deep draught of his drink. Now that the place was empty, it looked like nothing more than a long abandoned building complex, their faded blue and red façades foretelling of a greater era of prosperity long gone.

  
  


A ruse that had worked well against the lead addled minds of Teufort.

  
  


A ruse created so that they could continue this war, which had lost all purpose years ago. And while the Scout certainly didn't mind it all (or perhaps the five years of ceaseless fighting and dying and respawning was starting to get to his head), he couldn't help but ask himself how had it all gone so terribly wrong as he stared out at the desolate front lines. There had to be more to it than just a snap decision made in rebellion against an insult that even now followed him. There was more to it, every event adding more and more to his back until he had finally snapped.

  
  


“Having deep thoughts hrmmm?”

  
  


The words, accented with a dialect that didn't seem to be from anywhere in particular sliced through his thoughts like a sharp knife. The Scout didn't even need to look up to identify the man who had decided to sit down beside him.

 

There was the click of a lighter and a slim tendril of smoke lazily made its way through the summer breeze.

  
  


“So ya decided ta finally show ya face, ya French rat?” The Scout shot back, his gaze still on the quiet clearing below. “Or did ya have enough of pretendin’ ta be doc?”

  
  


“On zhe contrary, I came out here for a mere smoke.” Another wisp of smoke crossed the Scout's vision.

  
  


“Sure, sure.” He snorted, not believing the Spy’s story for a second. 

  
  


Another silence.

 

“y’know, it could'a been different.” The Scout finally said. “It didn't take much ta send me here.”

  
  


“It didn't?” The Spy questioned curiously.

  
  


“Nah. Not really. I mean,” He sighed. “It could'a gone differently. That double-crossin’ dirtbag could'a stayed an’...” His gaze drifted down, towards the purple can in his hands. “man...I would’ve given  _ anything _ ta know who my dad was as a kid. An’ hell, ta know that he was a freaking real life  _ spy _ outta some james bond movie not another shitbag from the street who’d done  _ nothing _ , I...I…” He stopped and tried to choke back a sob. It was  _ over _ . He couldn’t cry. Not here, while  _ spy _ of all people was watching. “...it could’a been great. I could’a been something. Or it could'a gone utterly shitfaced. I dunno. A lotta things could'a happened. Or maybe the Admin would'a had me on her team a different way.”

  
  


“Or perhaps you had no choice.” The Spy interjected. “Perhaps no matter what you do, your brother would always die and  _ he _ would never be there.”

  
  


“Perhaps. Perhaps the only thing I had a freaking choice in was if I ended up 'ere or dead in some cell in the middle of freaking nowhere. Or perhaps I had no freaking choice. Perhaps the Admin or what sick force is up there decided who the fuck I was gonna be on day one an’ made me be it.” The scout let out a small snort of laughter, dry and humourless. “Made me be...this. Some freak of nature stuck in some stupid endless war. Man, if I knew this team and this war was this fucking sick on day one, I would'a never joined.”

  
  
  


“I think we all feel zhe same.” The Spy dryly commented. 

 

A silence followed, as both men stared out over the map, each one lost in their own thoughts. 

  
  


And then finally….

 

“You're him aren't you?” The Scout asked, his gaze not wavering from whatever point in the distance he had been staring at. 

  
  


“Oh, you’ve figured it out hmmm?” The Spy replied, smugness in his voice. 

  
  


“Really dude? Really? Just…” He groaned in annoyance and finally turned his head to face the red-suited Spy. “Just quit it dude. It ain't funny. It ain't spooky or whatever the hell ya trying ya be. Just...just stop ya bastard.”

 

The Spy’s smug expression suddenly switched to one of shock.

 

He quickly recovered himself and putting out his cigarette on the cement floor of their perch, he swiftly got up.

  
  


“...aaand now ya going. Typical Spy.”

  
  


“What did you expect?” The Frenchman looked over his shoulder at the Scout and smiled, his usual suave expression back on his balaclava clad face. “I am a Spy. Zhat is what I do.”

  
  


“Ya mean running off at the first sign of danger? Running off as soon as ya bad choices catch up with ya?”

  
  


“Isn't zhat a little... hypocritical coming from  _ you _ Scout hrmmm?”

  
  


“I run pal. I don't hide. And when ya catch me, I only hit harder. You, on the other hand…”

  
  


“Enough.” He tried to silence the Scout with a hand, but the runner continued.

  
  


“...ya just hide. Ya run and ya hide. Well, guess what pal, ya been runnin’ from me for twenty-three years pal, but ya can't hide from me forever. Ya can't continue this little game of yours where ya pop in an’ outta my life, ruining my shit an’ then disappearin’ off doing that stupid laugh of yours when ya caught like some villain from some comic. So just quit it already. If ya want ta say something to me, just spit it out already. If ya wanna see me, quit disguising yaself as my teammates. An’ if ya wanna say sorry for what ya did…” His eyes met the Spy’s, identical steel blue eyes clashing, one pair full of smouldering fury and annoyance, the other pair strangely unreadable. “...ya can forget it. Ya can't apologise for fucking up my life like that. It's  _ over _ and ya can't do anything about it. You got that pal?”

  
  


The Spy was silent for a long moment before turning away from the Scout. 

 

“Adieu Scout.” He said, pulling out another cigarette from his jacket pocket and lighting it. His voice sounded off, as if he was trying to hold back some emotion from taking over his voice. But while his voice was still steady, it was obvious that the Scout’s words had hit him in some way, causing a fracture in his carefully crafted façade. 

 

There was a cloud of reddish smoke and then suddenly, the Spy was gone, leaving Scout alone to his thoughts once more. Turning back to the rest of the map, the Scout let out a quiet sigh and took another draught of his drink, only to realise the can was empty. 

 

Letting out a snort of annoyance, he threw the can over his shoulder, hitting the ground with a metallic clank behind him. Taking his bag off his back, he rummaged around in it, before pulling out another can, this time blue.  

 

Giving the can a momentary glare of annoyance upon finding that it wasn't crit-a-cola, he pulled the tab and opened the soda. There was a momentary fizz from the can as some of its sickly green contents bubbled out of its container and onto the scout’s hand wraps, before it calmed down back into the can. 

 

Looking from the buildings before him to the sky above, the Scout took a sip of his drink. The pink and yellow undertones of the twilight had taken over the magnificent blues of the day, the few stray wisps of cloud left in the sky highlighted in red against the golden heavens. A stray bird of some form flittered across his view, its white plumage tinted a blood red from the setting sun. it circled the skies for a bit, before swooping down and settling on a perch on the wooden frame covering the bridge. The bird sat there for a few minutes, preening its feathers before taking off again, this time in the Scout’s direction. 

  
  


“Hey there lil’ fella,” The runner said, stroking the bird as it landed next to him on the ledge. Upon closer inspection, it proved to be one of Medic’s doves, although given its lack of bloodstains, he couldn't exactly tell which. “Ya lost or somethin’?” 

 

The dove looked at him, head tilted in what looked like curiosity. 

 

“Heh...come on. It's gonna be dinner soon an’ I bet Doc’s been lookin’ for ya.” He got up, scooping up the dove in his free arm as he did so. The bird let out a squawk of protest at being picked up, before settling down in the crook of the Scout's elbow.

 

Walking away from the desolate bridge, Scout made his way through the faded blue concrete of their base, and then in from the fading daylight to the harsh fluorescent lights of the base's interior.

 

Walking back down the corridor with the dove nestled in his arm, the Scout turned into the common room.

 

No one seemed to noticed him as he entered, and he let out a small noise of disappointment as he looked around the room. Why wasn't anyone noticing him?

 

Pushing that question out of his mind, he turned his focus back to the room's occupants. Medic wasn't there, presumably still downstairs in his lab where the Scout had left him.

 

"Scoots?"

 

The Scout snapped his head to face the speaker, who was the squat form of their Engineer. He was looking at the Scout with unreadable goggled eyes, arms folded across his chest.

  
  


"Where in tarnation were ya? Demo needed ya in tha kitchen ta peel potatoes!"

  
  


"First of all, it ain't my turn ta peel the fuck-"

  
  


" _ Language _ ." The Engineer growled.

  
  


"-ing potatoes." The Scout continued, not caring what the engineer thought of his crude vocabulary the slightest. "It’s Snipes turn. An' second of all, what  _ I _ was doing ain't any of ya buisness hardhat. Now, ya know where Doc is? I found one of his birds flyin' around and ya know Doc gets all pissy if one of his birds is missin'..."

  
  


"Scout, hold on a sec..." The Engineer's attention had shifted from the youth to the white bird that was nestled in his arm. "Where in tarnation did ya find that bird?"

  
  


"The bird? It was just flying 'rou-HEY!" The Scout's sentence ended in a shout as the Texan tried to snatch the bird out of his arms.

  
  


"Lemme see that...well..." The Engineer examined the bird, roughly turning it and forcibly flexing its wings and legs. "Stuff me in a suit an' call me a Spy, it worked..."

  
  


"What the freaking hell dude?!" The Scout yelled, grabbing the dove out of the Engineer's hands. "Ya know how much doc would  _ kill _ us if he saw ya treatin' one of his birds like  _ that?! _ " He demanded, panic starting to tint his voice. While there were many things that could anger the Medic, manhandling one of his doves or, heaven help you,  _ injuring it  _ was a sure-fire way to send the Medic into a mad rage. And while the man might've seemed harmless enough with his innocuous job description and white, almost angelic get-up, the entire team knew that when angered, the Doctor was  _ easily _ the most dangerous (and most unhinged) member of the team.

  
  


The Engineer however, didn't seem to care.

 

"Scout, give me that bird." He growled, making another grab for the dove, only for the Scout's faster reflexes to maneuver it out of his reach. "Ya don't know what ya holding."

  
  


"Dude, it's one of Doc's doves. I know  _ exactly _ what it is dumbass!"

  
  


"It's more than that." He lunged for the dove a final time, his mechanical gloved hand finally grabbing ahold of it and pulling it out of the runner's grasp.

  
  


"Why? What did ya do to it?!" The Scout demanded, his voice getting increasingly panicked.

  
  


"Yes Dell,  _ vhat did you do to it? _ "

 

Both men spun around to find the tall, pale form of Medic standing in the room's doorway, arms crossed and glaring down at the Engineer through his glasses, a muted rage burning fiercely in his brown eyes. Several of his doves were clustered around him, staring at the Engineer seemingly with the same fury in their beady eyes as they glared at the man holding one of their brethren by its neck. 

  
  


“Ah...Josef…” The Engineer said, his tone surprisingly light for his situation. “Ya up early. Dinner ain't for another ten minutes.”

  
  


“Dell,” The Medic growled, his voice full of restraint as he tried to stop himself from attacking the man right here and now with his rubber gloved hands. “Vhy are you holding Schrödinger? I thought you said he vas  _ dead _ .”

  
  


“Well...let's just say ya dove lived up ta his namesake...ah won’t bore ya with tha details, with me being tha only quantum physicist here an’ all...but mah testing with respawn put ya bird in a...interesting state. Ah guess he wasn't quite dead after all.” He grinned, as if he had just solved some equation that had been bothering him. “Now, if ya excuse me, ah need ta run some tests on this here bird…”

  
  


“ _ Nein _ .” The Doctor hissed, the cold blade of his words so sharp and foreboding it made even the Engineer pause. “Give me zhe dove.  _ Now _ .”

  
  


“Doc, ah don't think ya understand...this here bird could be a  _ breakthrough _ in physics…”

  
  


“I. Don't. Care. Give me Schrödinger  _ now _ .” He held out a hand, waiting for the Engineer to relinquish the avian. 

  
  


“Sorry Josef, but ah can't. Frankly, ah don’t even know  _ why _ ya so protective of these dang birds – ah mean, aint the reason ya keep them in tha first place is so ya can do ya sick experiments on them? As opposed to, yknow, usin’  _ us?  _ Ah mean, if ya need tha dove so badly, can’t ya just go an’...ah dunno...clone it?”

  
  


There was a tense silence as the Medic glared at the Engineer, his anger towards the man so intense it was almost palpable in the common room. 

 

“Dell,” The Medic finally spoke, his voice dangerously cold and quiet. “If you are suggesting  _ for a single second _ zhat I vould use one of my or  _ any _ defenceless and  _ innocent _ creature or person in  _ any _ of my experiments, you are  _ severely  _ wrong. I vould  _ never _ do such an  _ inhumane _ thing. I am  _ disgusted _ at zhe very idea zhat you vould think I vould do such a thing.”

 

Dell paused for a moment, as if he was surprised by the Medic’s conviction. 

 

Which was just enough time for the Scout to nab Schrödinger out of his hands. Carefully giving the trembling white form to the Medic, he stepped away from the Engineer.

  
  


“Danke scout.” The German said nodding, before turning around and swiftly exiting the room, his attention on the dove in his hands. 

  
  


Not wanting to find himself at the centre of the inevitable outburst from the Engineer that would soon follow, the Scout hastily left the room too. 

 

* * *

 

changelog 8-8-16

 

+added chapter

 

//well...apologies for another late-ish chapter...this was a bloody hard one to write, not to mention we had the steven nuke...I promise the next chapter shall be faster and full of scoots not doing much of importance to the plot

//also...you guys...look, I ain't gonna beg or the like, but...reviews and comments are welcome! I ain't going to hold chapters hostage or anything disgusting like that, but they're good motivation and a way for me to make sure that I'm on the right track and haven't done anything unspeakably bad...so please. do it for the squids!  _indicates at the abundance of squids_ _flailing behind her_ they like reviews! 


	7. Rest and plans

Sunday.  

 

A chance to rest, a chance to reflect and a chance to prepare. 

 

The Scout let out a loud, over-exaggerated yawn as he entered the common room, taking relish in the extra hours of sleep he had managed to catch. While he certainly wasn't the insomniac Medic was, his habit of constantly consuming caffeinated drinks (a habit that after nearly six years, was more of an addiction than anything else) meant that any extra sleep he did manage to snag was a small blessing.

  
  


The inside of the base was pleasantly cool, a sharp contrast from the plains outside that even now in the morning would be swelteringly hot. For a moment, the Scout almost felt sorry for the RED team in their dilapidated and out-of-date wooden barn, which he knew for a fact had no form of air-conditioning.  

 

Making his way to the table that right now served as a breakfast table, the Scout pulled up a chair and sat down next to Soldier.

 

Most the team was gathered around the table, idly drinking coffee or reading newspapers. Spy and Demo where missing, having left already for Teufort to attend mass, along with Sniper, who could be just seen through the doorway in the kitchen, preparing breakfast.

 

From across the table sitting next to Pyro, the Engineer shifted his newspaper slightly and studied the Scout, his un-goggled gaze causing the Scout to unconsciously shift in his seat. After what had happened last night with the doves, the Engineer had been murderously leering at the Scout throughout the evening, obviously annoyed at what the youth had done. 

 

The Scout swallowed and shifted his gaze elsewhere. The Soldier beside him was consuming a cup of steaming coffee with great gusto, the pungent odour of sweat emanating from him. Scout guessed that the man had been up since six, doing his daily routine of military exercise and drills. Like the rest of the team right now, he had swapped his standard bright blue jacket for a khaki US officer’s jacket, which hung on the back of the chair behind him. 

 

No one ever wore their uniforms on sunday. They were garishly coloured, made going down into town difficult at times and for some people, they were just down right uncomfortable. Even the Scout had ditched his usual baseball-esque uniform for a more comfortable set of shorts and tee-shirt.

 

Not wanting to make conversation with the loud and overly-enthusiastic Soldier, the runner turned his attention to the other end of the table, where medic and heavy sat. 

 

Or rather, where the Medic lay. He was in lying face down on the table, a few silent snores escaping from him as he tried to catch a few more minutes sleep before the day properly began. Across from him, Heavy sat, his attention absorbed completely by the book in his hand. 

 

Well, no conversation there. 

 

The Scout let out an annoyed hmph and got up. He needed a can of... _ something _ and anyways, he knew Sniper would be up for conversation. He always was. 

 

Crossing the corridor, he entered the kitchen, where the tan form of the Sniper was standing by the stove, whistling some tune. He had on an apron on over his plaid green shirt and was cooking some eggs in a frypan, their odor filling the small kitchen.

 

“Yo, mornin’ Snipes!” Scout called, walking over to the fridge and pulling out a purple can. 

 

“Morning.” The Sniper returned, not looking up from the pan in front of him. “Brekkie ain’t ready yet ankle-boiter – ya gonna haveta wait at the table like everyone else mate.”

 

“Eh, I can wait out here.” The Scout leaned on the counter besides the fridge and opened his can. Taking a long swig of his drink, he paused for a moment as he waited for the rush of caffeine to hit his brain and properly jolt him awake. He didn't get why the rest of the team preferred coffee (or tea) over a can of Bonk!. The hot beverages always failed to give him that kick he needed to wake up, instead slowly trying to draw him into the day. “Hardhat’s givin’ me the evil eye an’ I ain't stickin’ around ta be started at by him. He looks plain creepy without them goggles of his on.” The Scout shivered at the thought.

 

“Bloody hell, just ignore him. He ain't Doc – he ain’t gonna turn ya inta bangers or anything like that. An’ anyways, it ain’t all ya fault. This entire ‘mesa business got him on edge.”

 

The runner let out a thoughtful sounding ‘hmmm’ and took another swig of his drink.   

 

“An’ anyways, the fella asked for it. Ya should be feelin’ sorry for Doc, not yaself. He’s the one that nearly got his boird killed. Get me a bowl willya?” He took the pan off the stove and dumped its steaming yellow contents into the bowl the Scout had grabbed out of the cupboard. “Alright, take that out an’ I’ll get some toast ready. And wake Doc up willya? He needs ta eat an’ he skipped dinner last night.” The Scout nodded and turned around to leave the kitchen. 

 

The common room was just as Scout had left it. 

 

“Hey guys, breakfast is ready!” He placed the bowl of egg in the middle of the table as the classes seated around it put their newspapers and books away. “And...could someone wake Doc up?” he gave the doctor a tentative poke.  

 

The Medic reacted instantly, waking up and snapping to attention, the action so fast that it nearly tipped over the chair he was in. shouting something at the top of his lungs in german, giving a suspicious looking salute before his mind caught up and he realised where he was. 

 

There was an awkward moment silence as the team stared at the man with looks of confusion and puzzlement before the Medic gave a sheepish grin and quickly excused himself.

  
  


“Bloody hell…” Sniper muttered as the man pushed him by as he entered the room carrying a plate piled high with toast. “What's gotten into him?” 

 

“Doctor needs coffee.” The heavy said in explanation. “He is a leetle...strange in the morning without it.”

 

“Eh, can’t blame ‘im.” The Sniper shrugged as he put his own cup of coffee down by his place next to Scout and sat down. “Bloody odd though. Thought Sol was the veteran 'ere.”

 

There were a few muttered replied from the team, not daring to voice the suspicion they’d all had since they’d met the m

Medic, but at the same time, not willing to let the incident go by unnoticed. The Scout remained silent, not knowing what to say about it. 

 

The awkward silence returned as they began to eat, no one quite knowing what to say. For a moment, Scout almost wished he was on the other team. Yes, they had the crappier bases, lacked a colour television and had to go into town to call people, but they seemed to be...more of a team. They didn’t experiment on each other's pets, or look at each other with suspicious glares. They didn’t miss birthdays or ignore holidays. They fought wizards and eyeballs, not their own spies. 

 

The scout shook his head as if to clear his mind. He couldn’t think that! He was on BLU! His team was  _ infinitely _ better than theirs! They had a proper television! And air-conditioning! And the best colour!

 

He sighed and turned his attention back to the plate before him, filled with yellow scrambled eggs and toast with some brownish spread on it. He had to eat. He could think about that later if he wanted to. 

 

A few minutes later, Medic returned, a cup of coffee in his hand and looking a bit more awake. Sitting back down in his chair, he took the plate in front of him and started to fill it with breakfast. 

 

“So…” The Engineer drawled, breaking the silence. “ya care ta explain what that was about Josef?”

 

“Zhat? Ah...I vas tired. Thought I vas...somevhere else. I...I need more sleep.” He swallowed. “But I vill never get  _ zhat _ as long as I am vith you dummkopfs though.” he let out a small snort of amusement at his own statement. 

 

“Hmm…” The Engineer glared at the medic for a moment, before turning his attention back to the plate before him. 

 

“So...uh... Sunday!” The Scout said, trying desperately to pick the conversation back up. He didn't like silence. It made him uneasy, like bad something was about to happen. “What are you guys gonna do?”

 

“Well, I don’t know about you buggers, but I need ta call home.” The Sniper responded, swallowing a bite of vegemite toast as he did so. “Gotta let them know I’m alright. Ain't you gonna do the same with your mum Scout?” 

 

“Nah, did that yesterday. What ‘bout you Py? You gonna go set somethin’ on fire or something?” 

 

“Mmph?” The Pyro asked, adjusting its gas mask as it pushed its finished breakfast plate away. While it hadn’t entirely dropped its mask and suit ensemble, it had swapped its bright blue asbestos suit for a black fireman’s fire kit with a gas mask that only covered the front of its face, revealing a head of short, roughly cropped maroon hair.

 

“Yeah, you. You see any other ‘maniacs ‘round here pal?”

 

“Bhhrmm ym gmmphs?” The Pyro let out a small muffled laugh and shrugged. “ymh, prmphmblh.”

 

The Engineer gave the firebug a long hard glare before clearing his throat and speaking again. 

“Well, ah need ta go inta town ta meet someone. Ah better be takin’ Py along too. Ah don’t trust him alone in here.” 

 

“Hrm!” The Pyro turned its head to the Engineer, arms crossed indignantly as its silvered eyes met the engineer’s clear blue ones. 

 

“Py, I ain’t leavin’ ya alone here. Ya’ill set tha place on fire.” 

 

The Pyro let out an offended noise and shook its head. 

“Whmm dm yph trrph mm frr? Thm RMD Prrmh?” it let out a short laugh that came out harshly, even though its mask. “ _ I _ hvmph rmmstrnpht.” 

 

“Sure ya do.” The Texan snorted. “I’ll believe  _ that _ when ah see it.”

 

The firebug leaned back slightly from the Engineer, looking slightly hurt as it did so. 

 

“Dell,” The Medic pushed aside his finished plate and procured a napkin from somewhere as he spoke. “Pyro von’t set anything she isn’t meant to on fire. And if she does...vell I and Sniper and I assume Scout vill be here to stop it. It's not like I haff much choice. I need to clean zhe dove cages and  _ make sure Schrödinger is OK. _ ” He growled the last part of the sentence, glaring at the Engineer with renewed fury as he did so.”

 

“Yeah, I'll be here.” The Scout butted in grinning. “If Py's gonna burn this place, I wanna be here when it happens.”

 

“You are not  _ helping _ Scout.” The Medic muttered. 

 

“Look, ah think it’d be for tha best if ah bring Pyro along. Get him out of your hair so ta speak.”

 

"hold on a sec," The Scout interrupted. "why do  _ you _ get ta choose what Py or  _ any _ of us do right now? you ain't the boss 'round here." there was a round of agreement from the rest of the team as they turned their attention to the Engineer, staring expectantly for an answer.

 

"Ya  _ really _ want tha reason Nathaniel?" the Scout cringed a little at the mention of his real name. How did the engineer know  _ that? _ he'd only ever told it to Rick and Medic, and the Spies just seemed to know it automatically, along with every other little thing about him. "Tha reason is because ya all insane. Every last one of ya. An' as tha least insane here, it is mah duty ta make sure ya don't all kill each other."

 

"Hold on a bloody moment," The Sniper cut in, his tone slightly patronizing "Are ya tryin' ta say that here, outta all of us,  _ you _ are the sanest?"

 

"yup."

 

The Sniper tried to say something else, but it was drowned out by the sudden, harsh laugh of the Medic.

 

" _ you? _ " The Medic managed to gasp in between laughs. " _ You _ are zhe least crazy here? Zhis is  _ hilarious _ ."

 

The Engineer looked around the table for some sort of support, but found none. Sniper and Scout were both grinning like idiots, Pyro had joined Medic in the laughter and the Heavy was silent, an amused expression on his face.

 

"Bloody hell mate." The Sniper said after the doctor's laughter had faded to a breathless wheeze. "Ya  _ really _ think that doncha?"

 

"Ya cut off ya own freaking  _ arm! _ " the Scout added, pointing at the texan's gloved right hand. "I mean, come  _ on! _ "

 

"Ah don't talk ta guns. Ah don't in-cess-ant-ly set things on fire. Ah don't go experimentin' on mah own team. After all the things ah've seen y’all do, ah reckon cuttin' off mah own arm in tha name of science is pretty  _ tame.  _ 'Specially compared to tha horrors ah've seen come outta Doc's office."

 

The Medic let out a snort and adjusted his glasses.

"Vell, zhat is if you choose to forget zhe entire teleporter incident."

 

"Doc, that was an honest mistake. ah didn't know..."

 

"An honest mistake.  _ Zhat’s _ vhy you stole Schrödinger. To see vhat you could get out of zhat 'honest mistake'."

 

"Well, would ya rather ah used one of  _ us _ ta test out mah theory?" The Engineer leaned back, satisfied at apparently having the moral high ground.

 

"Yes." The Medic flatly responded, as if he thought the Engineer was an idiot for not doing so.

 

"well, ain't that a little hypocritical?"

 

"Dell," The Medic groaned. "I refuse to have a philosophical debate on zhe ethics of my...experiments right now. I have things to do, along with everyone else here."

 

"Doctor is right." The Heavy finally interjected, after having remained silent for the entire duration of breakfast. "We have things to do."

 

The Engineer looked in disbelief at his teammates before letting out a 'hmmph' and getting up.

"Ya haven't won this ya know? Ah  _ will _ continue this here conversation at a later date."

 

"Yes, yes," The Medic waved the Engineer away out of the room with a dismissive hand. "Just go now."

 

The group waited until the sound of the front door slamming could be heard before speaking again.

 

"Vell, I better be off." The Medic said draining his coffee cup and getting up. "Scout, I think it is your turn to do zhe dishes."

 

"Wait, what?! No way!" The Scout folded his arms. "I ain't doin’ 'em. It's hardhat's day!"

 

"Vell, Dell isn't here. and as you did not do them  _ last _ night..."

 

"Oh come on! If I had so much as freaking  _ looked _ at hardhat last night, He would'a freaking  _ killed _ me!"

 

"Scout, go do the bloody dishes." The Sniper sighed, leaning back on the chair and picking a newspaper off the table.

 

"Or what?"

 

"Or ya won't have any lunch."

 

“And?”

 

“And I’m making sanviches.”

 

"...fine." The Scout sulked off to the kitchen to do dish duty.

 

* * *

 

Chnagelog 16-8-16

 

\+ Added chapter

 

//So, uh...new chapter! Looks like this is staring to turn into a weekly thing. Sorry.

//Speaking of delays, the next chapter light be a little later than expected as I'll be redoing one of the earlier chapters here. Looking back, it's kinda shitty and that might be because it , was done entirely in a 6 hour plane ride.

//Is that how caffeine works? I DON'T KNOW! I'm not a biologist and I got confused on Wikipedia's definition of biological half-life. I'll stick to my physics thank you very much.

 


	8. Sandvich run

“Come ON!” The Scout shouted, as if somehow yelling at the television would help his situation. “Just freaking DIE already!”

 

He’d been at this all morning, as evidenced by the increasing pain in his thumbs and the growing pile of cans next to him, but he certainly wasn't going to give up now.

“C'mon...jump...jump...oh  _ shit! _ ” He swore, his concentration suddenly broken by a black ‘game over’ screen. He dropped the controller in his hands and let out an annoyed sigh. “I freakin’ had it. I freakin’  _ swear _ I did!”

 

The Sniper looked up from his book briefly to see the Scout sigh again and pick the dropped controller up. It amazed him that the youth who could barely wait the thirty seconds needed to cook a pop-tart could spend over three hours repeating the same level of a video game over and over again. 

 

If only he could have the same patience elsewhere. 

 

“Yo Snipes,” The Scout continued, his head still focused on the television before him. “Ain't it lunch soon?”

 

“Bloody hell…” The Australian swore, glancing at his watch. It was indeed getting awfully close to lunch. 

 

“Yeah, 'bloody hell’. Ya promised me a sandvich pal, an’ I want my sandvich.”

 

Muttering something about 'impatient little wankers’, the Sniper put down his book and got up, disappearing off into the kitchen.

 

Minutes later, he came back out with a plate piled high with sandviches wrapped up in tin foil. Upon seeing lunch, the Scout instantly leapt up, casting his controller aside to grab the plate of food from the Sniper.

 

“Doc... Heavy... Py...hey, where's mine?!” The Scout exclaimed, rummaging through the pile only to find there was nothing for him. 

 

“Ya mean this?” The Sniper held up a foil square with the Scout's name written on a yellow sticky note haphazardly stuck to it. 

 

“Yeah, I mean that! Gimme!” He launched himself at the sandvich, only for the Sniper to pull it out of his reach.

 

“Nope. ya gotta do something first.”

 

“Oh no, I am  _ not _ cleaning out ya piss jars again!” The Scout yelled, making another desperate grab at the food article.

 

“Nope. Ya got ta deliver those first.” The Sniper pointed at the plate the Scout was somehow still holding. “But if ya whine, I might just take ya up on that offer.” He added, grinning evilly.

 

The Scout opened his mouth to argue, but then decided that it  _ really _ wasn't worth the effort if it meant he had to clean out the sniper's… _ jarate  _ jars.

 

Giving the Sniper a venomous glare, the Scout walked past the Australian, a plate of foil wrapped sandviches in tow.

* * *

 

 

Soldier wasn't hard to find. He never was on a Sunday. 

 

“One-hundred and thirty ONE! One-hundred and thirty TWO! One-hundred and thirty THREE!” 

 

The man had set up base outside by the bridge between the two bases and was doing one handed push-ups. 

 

“Yo Sol!” The Scout yelled, walking up to the profusely sweating man, careful not to get  _ too _ close to him in case he was attacked.

 

“What is it (one-hundred and thirty FOUR) PRIVATE!? I am (one-hundred and thirty FIVE) BUSY!” The Soldier demanded in his usual tone of ‘extremely pissed’. 

 

“I got lunch.” 

 

“Did (one-hundred and thirty SIX) YOU?! OR IS THIS A TRICK (one-hundred and thirty SEVEN) BY THAT COMMIE SPY TO MAKE ME EAT FOODSTUFFS THAT DO NOT (one-hundred and thirty EIGHT) ORIGINATE FROM OUR GLORIOUS COUNTRY OF AMERICA?!”

 

“Duh…”

 

“WHAT DOES THE SANDWICH CONTAIN?!”

 

Slightly bemused by the man’s question, the Scout put down the plate and peeled of some of the foil covering the soldier's lunch. Pulling apart the white bread, he found that the sandvich consisted of a chunk of half thawed steak and a few slices of cheese.

 

“Uh...steak an’ cheese.”

 

“Does it contain ONION?!” The American demanded, jumping up and grabbing his helmet from where it lay on the ground.

 

“No.”

 

“Does it contain MUSTARD?!”

 

“No.”

 

“Does it contain SNAILS?!”

 

“N-why the fuck would it have  _ snails _ Sol?” 

 

“Because that CHEESE EATING SURRENDER MONKEY would do ANYTHING to INDOCTRINATE ME into his COMMUNIST EATING HABITS!” He yelled in response, grabbing the sandvich out of the Scout’s hands. “But this SANDWICH is  **AMERICAN** !” He ripped off the remaining foil and began to ravenously devour it almost as if it would disappear if he wasn’t quick enough.

 

The Scout stood for a second, still trying to make sense of the Soldier's logic before giving up and turning back to the base. 

 

He still had three sandviches left to deliver.

 

  
  


* * *

 

 

Sunlight streamed through an open window placed high in the wall as the Scout opened the creaking door that lead to the infirmary. The air was filled with a fine powder that made the Scout sneeze when he inhaled too fast. 

 

Perched around the room, their white feathered forms quietly cooing to each other, was the Medic's flight of doves, each one looking unusually clean and groomed. 

 

Their master stood by them, his disheveled form contrasting strangely with the pristine ones of his birds. He stood there, leaning against his desk with a cup of coffee in his hand, too lost in his own thoughts to notice the Scout’s entrance. He was still wearing his clothes from yesterday, crumpled and un-ironed in a fashion that was quite unlike usual meticulous appearance.

 

“Yo doc.” The Scout bounced up to the man, shaking him out of his trance. “I got lunch for ya.”

 

“Vhat?” The man questioned, slightly startled by the youth’s sudden appearance and the rapid passing of time. “Lunch already?”

 

“Yeah. an’ I gotta give ya this or Snipes is gonna make me clean out his piss jars.” Making a disgusted face, he handed the doctor a foil square bearing his name. 

 

The Medic took the offered sandvich and unwrapping it, began to eat. His doves instantly flocked over to him, in the hope that they could perhaps have a piece to eat too. 

 

“Ach,  _ nein! _ ” The Medic tried to shoo the birds away, but they were persistent. “Scout, zhere should some feed by zhe bird cage...can you bring it here?” 

 

The scout complied, running over and fetching the box of bird seed before he was mobbed too. Giving it to him, the Scout stepped back as the Medic took a handful and scattered it on the infirmary floor.

 

The avivians instantly flocked to the seed, fighting for the scattered grain as they Medic went back to his lunch. Now that they were all on the floor, and weren't flying around, Scout realised that there were only eight doves present. 

 

“Doc, didnt ya have more birds?”

 

The Medic, upon hearing the question, instantly stood up, a look of worry taking over his face.

 

“Vhat?! nein...I think they’re all here...Archimedes, Shrödinger, Hippocrates, Rosarach, Descartes, Nietzsche, Hermes, Mendeleev...nein, zhey are all here. Vhy?”

 

“Eh, I thought ya had more than seven birds. 'cause, y’know, the other Medic has a  _ shitload _ of birds.”

 

“Hans? Ach, he breeds them. He...also experiments on them.” The medic's voice took on a slightly lower, disgusted tone as he added this. “Zhe  _ sveinhold _ .”

 

“Yeesh,” The Scout added, more in surprise to the doctor's sudden change in attitude than at anything else. “I...uh...gotta go.” 

 

The Medic nodded and leaned back on his desk, half a sandvich in hand.

“Very well. Herr Ivan should be on zhe roof.” 

 

“Alright! thanks Doc!” The Scout rushed out the room, somehow managing to avoid the doves while still going at his trademark breakneck speed.  

* * *

 

 

The Heavy was on the roof, just like the Medic said he would be. 

 

He was reading a thick, hardcover book with a Russian title embossed in gold into its cover. It was odd to see him like that, his gigantic form hunched over a book that would’ve looked  _ huge _ next to the scouts form, but looked tiny in his hands. 

 

“Yo, heavy!” The Scout exclaimed, pulling himself up the last few rungs of the ladder that lead to the roof. “Watch’a doin’ up here? And how the freakin’ hell did ya get up this ladder? It's freakin’  _ tiny _ next ya you!”

 

“Why is lettle scout man up here?” The Russian asked, lowering his book and narrowing his ice blue eyes at the runner. “He better not be here to annoy me.” His voice was sharp and cold, obviously annoyed at being disturbed.

 

“Whoa, whoa, I just got ya lunch.” the Scout raised his arms in defence, revealing that he only held two sandviches and a plate. He tried to put on his most brazen grin as he faced the man, but it was a thin disguise for the unease he had about the Heavy 

 

The larger man looked the Scout for a long hard moment before relaxing and taking one of the sandvich from him.

 

“Scout can go now.” The Heavy said, unwrapping his sandvich and inspecting it, before taking a bite.

 

“I can? So I need ya freaking permission now, do I?” The Scout snarked, folding his arms. “What if I don’t wanna go big guy?”

 

“Scout is now being annoying.” The Heavy let out an annoyed growl. “Scout should go if he wants to keep arms.”

 

“Jesus dude, I was just kidding!” The Scout exclaimed, throwing his arms up in the air. “I mean, no offence, but ya pretty damn boring pal. I got better things ta do than stick around an’ watch a shaved bear read a book.”

 

The Heavy glared at the Scout, but let out a satisfied ‘hmph’ and turned back to his book.

 

The Scout relaxed and turned around. He still had to find Pyro.

 

* * *

 

“Goddamn it Py, where the hell are ya?” The Scout muttered, stomping down the base’s main corridor for the third time. He  _ swore _ he’d looked everywhere, but yet he  _ still _ couldn't find the masked maniac. 

 

Letting out a final annoyed snort, the Scout spun around and headed back to the common room. He was hungry and Sniper had another thing coming if he thought he could keep the Scout from lunch just because the Pyro had decided to play a game of hide and seek.

 

“Yo Snipes!” The Scout yelled, walking into the common room. “Where's my damn san-Py!” The Scout’s scowl turned into a grin as he saw the firebug seated at the table, arms folded on the scratched glass of the tabletop. “There ya are! Been lookin’ for ya!” 

 

The Pyro’s head jerked up at the mention if its name as the Scout tossed the foil wrapped sandvich at it.

 

“Alright, that's done.” The Scout proclaimed, dusting off his hands. “You seen Snipes Py? That guy owes me a sandvich.”

 

The Pyro nodded and pointed towards the kitchen.

 

Spinning around, the runner rushed into the kitchen, slamming into the Sniper as the australian walked out of the room at the same time. 

 

“Bloody hell!” The Sniper yelled, scrambling desperately to save his lunch before it hit the floor.

 

“Snipes!” The Scout yelled, plucking the cheese and vegemite sandvich out of mid-air mere moments into its fall. 

 

“Bloody hell mate...what’dya want?” the Sniper made a grab for the lunch in the Scout’s hands, only for the runner’s superior reflexes to jerk it out of the sharp shooter's reach.

 

“I want my lunch ‘mate’. I did the thing an’ now I wanna sandvich.” 

 

“You actually did that?” The Sniper’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, only to be obscured by the silver aviators precariously balanced on his forehead. 

 

“Yeah pal, what'dya expect? Ya had my lunch hostage.”

 

“Thought ya would give up and get your lunch outta the fridge. Y’know, like you always do.”

 

“Wait, wait, what about the entire piss–”

 

“ _ Jarate. _ ”

 

“Fine, jar thing?”

 

The Sniper rolled his eyes and made another grab for the sandvich. 

“I was only bloody joking mate. Ya brought  _ that _ one on yaself.”

 

“Ya mean ya weren't serious?” The Scout asked, disbelief tinting his voice as he let the sniper take the sandvich.

 

“Scout, ya know as well as I that I ain’t letting  _ you _ anywhere  _ near _ my jars after ya filled with...milk.”

 

“Hey, come on! That wasn’t all my fault! Doc was the one had the idea! And that  _ was _ milk for the record pal.”

 

“...Alright.” The Sniper finished, walking past scout into the common room, already done with the conversation. The scout paused to say something, but nothing came. 

 

Shrugging, he went over to the fridge and opening it, found that his lunch was indeed there, between a six pack of cheap beer and a glass bowl of week old leftovers.

 

Taking the sandvich and unwrapping it, he found a cold grilled cheese inside, the swiss having long since congealed into a solid yellow blob from its stay in the fridge.

 

Muttering something under his breath, the Scout took a bite out of the sandvich as walked over to the (still on) television by the room’s window.

 

He still had to beat that level.

 

* * *

 

 

changelog 26-8-16

 

\+ added chapter

 

//its raining somewhere else. and that somewhere else is here. there is seroiusly too much rain here. but rain doesn't stop me from writing, only slows me down. its weirdly hypontic and...ah, to hell with excuses. I'm late. between no man's sky and TF2's birthday, I'v e been distracted. anyways, I hope you liked that chapter because next time, shits gonna hit the fan...

 

//speaking of no man's sky, remeber how I said I was going to start another, non-TF2 story soon? well, its up! check out  **The Heavens Above**  on my profile if you want to see something a little different! 

 

//squids!

 


	9. Leaks and Incentives

It was three in the morning and everything was silent. No surprise since the usual noisemakers were all asleep (or in Medic's case, slumped over unconscious over unfinished work).

 

Well, not everybody.

 

Hidden away in an abandoned mineshaft miles away from 2fort, a purple suited woman with greying hair and an aroma of cigarette smoke sat, glaring at the glowing monitors before her.

 

She was not happy.

 

She had been woken up three hours ago by Miss Pauling, informing her that a Black Mesa operative had been sighted a mile north of 2fort, where BLU team alpha had been assigned. Since then, several more had been seen, along with a unmarked convey, but wherever they had gone, she had no cameras.

 

This meant three things.

 

One: the enemy had somehow managed to sneak past her defences and was now camped somewhere near her precious team of mercenaries.

 

Two: they had somehow seen past her clever ruse and had gone to attack the unprepared BLU team, as opposed to the ready and waiting RED team out in Colorado.

 

Which meant three: they had a leak. Most likely on the BLU team.

 

The Administrator sighed and rubbed at her temples. A leak. So much for trusting the mercenaries. She’d thought that that group of mindless ageless idiots couldn't be of any harm, but she had obviously been wrong.

 

She didn't like being wrong.

 

But she had more important things to worry about right now than a leak. 

 

“Pauling, put Nathaniel Palmer on the line please.” She curtly ordered, activating the communication line with her secretary as she did so.

 

“Yes ma'am.” 

 

* * *

 

The water silently lapped at the pier, its distorted surface stained a deep indigo by the twilit sky above. 

 

The waterfront was empty. It always was. He never knew why, but it always appeared empty to him.

 

He sat on the wooden pier, legs dangling down over the ocean as it ebbed in and out below him. It was stained a deep, almost blood red by the horizon by the invisible sun, small waves casting tiny silhouettes of black blue against the pallet of colours that bled through the sea.

 

Nathaniel Palmer let out a deep sigh and drew his attention from the water below to the sky above. It was clear, with stars dimly shining from the early morning light of the not yet visible sun. it too was stained a deep shade of vermilion, blotting out the tiny pinpricks of light that were somehow stars. 

 

He didn't know how he’d gotten here. He never did. 

 

You never did in dreams. 

 

Ever since he’d taken off into the american unknown, he’d had this dream. Sometimes the time of day would change, or the location, but no matter when or where it was, one thing was always the same. 

 

It was always empty.

 

Nate got up. He knew this place well, having spent countless summer days running up and down the worn wooden slats of the causeway, perhaps pausing to grab a drink from the shop if he could wrangle enough money up from his brothers or his mother. 

  
  


Breaking into a jog, he set off along the walkway, past the pier he’d been on, past the shops with their sun bleached signs advertising products, waging their silent wars against their competitors for the attention of beach-going customers. 

 

It could've been worse, he reflected. He knew most of the team had nightmares, caused by the constant, endless cycle of death and life and pain created by respawn and their...colourful histories. Not that he didn't have the nightmares – far from it – it was just that out of all the things his mind could have focused on, it had chosen on the past that he had left behind some seven years ago. 

 

Beneath his feet, the wood turned to tarmac and he was in Boston city proper now. Buildings dwarfed him from all sides, some with billboards advertising nuka cola or some show at the cinema or fallout shelters from some company still stuck in the depths of the cold war.

 

And as he ran, something changed. There was still no one around, but yet the youth felt a presence. Like someone was watching.

 

Some part of his mind, honed by years on the run in a fairly unknown and hostile country, told him to wake up, that there was someone with him, someone who might be prepared to strike at any moment; but it was ignored, another part of him having grown used to the relative safety of his job and his life.

 

He took a left, taking him even deeper into the city. Some part of him knew this place, knew its streets and its alleys, but it had been worn down by years of traveling, by years of not being in his home city, dulling his memory of what was where. And some part of him ached, as if that missing information was not merely street names and shopfronts, but an actual tangible part of him, grown weak and heavy from lack of use. 

 

The presence grew stronger, and not even his partly desensitised mind could ignore it. There  _ was _ someone in the room with him. 

 

Some logical part of him, the part that called himself the Scout, not Nathaniel Palmer, warned him that it was Spy or some other member of his team, out to get revenge for some petty thing he had done earlier. 

 

But it didn’t come through. 

 

He picked up his pace, his slow jog turning into a run and then finally a sprint, as if he could outrun that real-life problem here, in this dream. He ran through the deserted streets, taking corners and turns seemingly at random, all in the hope that he could perhaps outrun whatever it was. 

 

But much to his horror, it did nothing. That haunting feeling still lingered.

 

His mind and heart quickened, fear starting to take ahold of him. What could he do, if he couldn't run? He couldn't hide, he couldn't fight back, and he couldn't run...

 

And then the world faltered. 

 

It shook, buildings folding in upon themselves like origami. He stumbled, but picked himself up before he could fall.

 

He continued running, fear making him go even faster than what was possible. Buildings collapsed around him, driving him even faster through the deserted streets.

 

The world shook again, this time harder and his feet lost contact with the ground, sending him falling down, not onto the sidewalk he had been on, but into a black void that had suddenly opened up below him, swallowing him, tearing his mind back into consciousness…

  
  


And then suddenly he was staring up at the off-white ceiling of a room, a purple, bespectacled figure leaning over him. 

 

He lay like that for a long moment, mind still racing in fear as he tried to make sense of what had happened.

 

“Scout?”

 

Nate opened his mouth, his mind already asking  _ who _ she was referring to, because he was Nathaniel, not this ‘Scout’ when finally reality caught up to him. 

 

He sat up in his bed, blinking his eyes rapidly in an effort to clear his eyes of sleep.

 

“Miss...Miss Pauling? What…” His mind was tired and confused, still having trouble formulating words. 

 

“The administrator wants you.” She briskly said, not really caring the slightest for what had just happened. Most the team were light sleepers and had similar reactions upon awaking (if they didn't instantly attack her that was), a habit gained from their... lifestyles.

 

“Admin? Jesus, what the fuck is the time?!” 

 

“Its three twenty in the morning.”

 

“Three–holy shit!” The Scout jumped up, once again in fear, but this time of the Administrator. His mind raced through all the things she could've called him for – socialising with RED, skipping battles, ignoring Medic....he was pretty damn sure he’d broken nearly every damn rule in the book – but then again, who hadn’t? 

 

“Yes it is. The Administrator is waiting scout.” 

 

“ShitshitshitshitSHIT!” The Scout swore, hurriedly grabbing his clothes from yesterday and throwing them on. You  _ did not _ keep the Administrator waiting if you wanted to keep your job or your life. 

 

Throwing on a jacket and his cap as an afterthought, the Scout turned to the secretary, somewhat ready.

She nodded and lead him out of his room, down the stairs that lead to the ground floor and then another set that went down into the basement. The communications room was under the base, next to Medic’s office, where the other team couldn’t reach during normal combat. 

 

Walking by the doctor’s office, the Scout caught a glimpse of his white form lying sprawled across his desk in a rare moment of lethargy. 

 

But then he turned and the Scout was ushered into the communications room, the thick soundproof door quietly closing behind the duo. 

 

Computers lined the walls of the room, the harsh bluish white of fluorescent lighting illuminating the room. The computers quietly flashed and whirred, perhaps occasionally beeping or spitting out a card onto the ground.

 

A huge monitor covered half the wall, its surface flickering with static. Directly below it, a desk sat covered in papers and folders.    

 

Miss pauling nudged the Scout forwards and he shuffled towards the desk and the plush looking desk chair before it. 

 

He was nervous. Why wouldn't he be? The Administrator, the power that be, the woman who for the last six years, had controlled every aspect of his life. A single word from her and he might be utterly erased off the face of the earth, with not a single photograph or memory to be recalled by. 

 

He could become nothing more than a statistic, quoted by the Administrator to his replacement. 

 

Turning the chair slightly, he sat down. The screen before him flickered to life and the runner let out a shaky breath. 

 

The screen before him showed a darkened room, the only source of illumination being a bare bulb behind the caller, silhouetting her form for the camera. 

 

The scout could faintly make out some basic features of the woman - her suited form, a head of black hair with a single, thick streak of white running through it and a cigarette held loosely in her left hand but beyond that, nothing. 

 

There was a silence as each party waited for the other to speak, before the older woman spoke.

 

“Nathaniel Palmer.” She said, her words sharp and roughened by years of smoking and shouting.

 

“Y...yes ma'am.” He swallowed, like a disobedient student before the principal.

 

Helen, from behind her veil of smoke and darkness, smiled. 

 

Everyone was scared of her. Even her own late employers had shied away from her words and her ruthlessness. Some tried to hide their fear behind tall words like Spy, it behind a seemingly emotionless façade like the Heavy, but it was still there, still buried away deep in their minds. She had even somehow managed to strike fear into the insane monster that was the Pyro, the fear considered impossible by many.

 

But while fear was a useful thing to have, it did not always suffice. Many men throughout history had found out that fear would eventually crack and give way to revolt, and the Admin did not want to tread down the same path as they did.

 

She didn't use fear. She used incentives.

 

Every one of those eighteen men had something that if offered or threatened, they’d do anything for. Throughout her years of working with the current generation of team fortress industries, she had had to appeal to the Pyro's insanity, doubt a Spy’s skill, challenge a Sniper’s... manliness, threaten a Heavy’s Medic and lover, and that was only for RED. The BLU team had their own set of fears and desires and mixing the two would only ever lead to chaos.

 

But thankfully, the Scouts were the easiest to manipulate. They always had been.

 

“I have seen that of late, your team has started to doubt your ability.” She waited for the Scout's reaction before continuing.

 

The youth cringed a little and shrank in his chair. She smiled. Both Scouts had a weak point in their pride - challenge that and they would do about anything to prove themselves. Add that to the steadily growing pile of issues and problems the BLU scout had with both himself and the team and you had a mercenary desperate enough to do anything to get attention from his colleges.

  
  
  


“Uh...yeah…” The Scout stammered a little, unsure of how to reply. “But hey, don’t listen ta them! Right? I mean…” He trailed off, giving the administrator a slightly hurt look from underneath the brim of his cap. It was obvious that the fact hurt him more than he wanted to let on. “Its nothing though. Just those dumbasses not knowin’ talent an’ skill if it bit ‘em on the ass.”

 

“But what if...what if I had something to fix that?”

  
  


“Wait...what’dya mean?”

 

“I have a mission for you.”

 

“Like, a contract?”

 

“No, a mission.”

 

“Go on…”

 

To the Scout's right, one of the various computers beeped into life and spat out a page onto the desk before him. 

 

“Several Black Mesa operatives have been sighted several miles north from here, approximately a mile out of the respawn zone. I need you to go out and do reconnaissance on this new...development.  _ alone. _ ”

 

“Wait,  _ what? _ ” The youth explained, his voice squeaking a little. “You want me to go out,  _ alone _ and spy on the same guys that nearly killed me for real,  _ all without respawn!? _ Are you fucking  _ crazy _ lady!?” 

 

“I am not asking you to engage them Scout. I am merely asking for you to do what you were hired to do.”

 

“To hurt people?” 

 

“To scout ahead.” 

 

“But…” 

 

The Admin silently sighed. The boy’s trepidation was obvious, and especially after what had happened, it was easy to see why. She wished she was speaking to Frederick, the RED Scout - he would already be out there, instead of having second thoughts in here. 

 

“Look, why did I hire you?” 

 

“Because I’m the best of the best.” The Scout said, sitting a little straighter, his statement filling him slightly with confidence again.

 

“Exactly. But if you are the best of the best, why does your team think otherwise?” 

 

“Because they're idiots.” he tried to grin brazenly, but it came off as more desperate than confident.

 

“But what if you could fix that?”

 

“By taking this mission?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Ok,  _ how _ does that work?” 

 

“Simple. Do the mission and perhaps then they will realise that you aren't as useless as they think you are.” 

 

The Scout paused and took the sheet the computer had spat out. It was a mission briefing, complete with a small map of the area where the enemy was supposed to be. 

 

Was this really the chance he was looking for? He’d be all alone out there, and any death would be permanent. 

 

But this was a chance. If they saw that  _ he _ had gone out and taken out the enemy, perhaps they’d stop looking down at him. Perhaps, if he did what they couldn't…

 

He tucked the sheet into his jacket. 

 

“I’ll do it.”

 

* * *

 

changelog 1-9-16

\+ ad-ah screw this. who looks at these anyway?

 

 

**so, new chapter. and new author notes to go with it. yay!**

 

**anyways, I just want to take a moment to say...thank you. why? because you guys. somehow, you have slogged through over 50k words of my writing and yet you are somehow still here, reading. even if you don't review, follow or even like, it all means something. it means that somehow, someone likes my writing. and I just want to say thank you. it means a lot to me.**

 


	10. Intorductions of a different sort

Ten minutes (and one change of clothes later), he was back. 

 

Back with a new goal and a new motivation. 

 

Those Black Mesa bastards wouldn't stand a chance.   

 

He grinned to himself as he whipped by first the solid grey and blue buildings of his base, and then past the pale wood and flaking red paint of their enemies, all behind the cyclone fence that separated them from the rest of the world. 

 

And then that was left behind, leaving the Scout alone on the silent dirt road that was the base’s only connection to the outside world. 

 

He continued on. 

 

According to the administrator's notes, the black mesa operatives were probably hiding out in one of the old maps - a small abandoned settlement about five miles out from Teufort - a three minute bike for the Scout.

 

The Scout might've been fast on foot, but even he would have trouble running that distance without assistance. So he’d taken his bike - a green and scratched thing with dents caused by too many years of extreme use. It certainly didn't have the almost primal thrill of roaring through the plains in the team’s car – or even better, a  _ motorbike _ , but the Administrator had said that the mission was a stealth one and that (unfortunately) meant he was confined to this.

 

Mumbling something to himself, he peddled on. As great as it was to have a chance to shine in the team, he couldn't help why the Admin had chosen  _ him _ , and not the class actually meant for sneaky operations like this one. He’d been happily asle–

 

_ Zzhct _

 

The Scout was jerked out of his thoughts as a sharp sting of static suddenly sounded in his left ear, causing to start and nearly lose his balance on the bike. Still heading forwards, he craned his head around, searching for what of could of caused the noise, but–

  
  


_ Zzhct! _

 

The noise came again, this time louder and the Scout managed to finally locate it's source. 

 

Stopping the bike so hard it threatened to send him flying over the handlebars, he took off the yellow headset covering his left ear and inspected it. 

 

Seeing nothing wrong with the outside, he twisted off the yellow cover and looked blankly at the mess of wires and light and knobs that made up the interior of the device. 

 

Frankly, he had no idea what he was looking at. Both the Engineer and his brother Cecil – an amateur radio host – had tried to explain the finer details of radio communication to him, but it had all but been lost on the runner. It all  _ looked _ fine to him, but for all he knew, it could've been permanently broken.

  
  


Putting the headset back together, he put it back on and gave it a tap, activating it.

 

“Yo, this thing still working?”

 

“Receiving you loud and clear Scout.” The reply came, slightly distorted but still recognisable as miss Pauling's voice. “What’s wrong?” 

 

“I dunno. Getting static over here an’ I dunno why.”

 

“Static?” There was the faint sound of a keys from the other side of the headset as the assistant typed something. 

 

“Yeah, like iner...iner...that thing the TV does when Sol knocks out the 'dish.”

 

“Interference.” She corrected. “Are you still in the respawn zone?”

 

“Eh…” The Scout looked around the deserted road “think so. But I’m like, on the edge or something.” The Scout straightened his headset and kicked the bike into motion, pedaling slowly as he continued the conversation. 

 

“Ok then. I think I know what the issue is.”

 

“Oh man...did I break the thing again? Hardhat’s gonna be  _ pissed _ if he has ta fix my head-thing again...”

 

“Its respawn.”

 

“Respawn?!” The Scout suddenly squeaked in fear, slamming on the breaks again. “Is–”

 

“Its  _ fine _ .” Miss Pauling interrupted, stopping Scout before he could dissolve into another panic attack. “It's just a security measure we've asked Dell to put on since the incident at sawmill.”

 

“A what?”

 

“A safety measure. I don't know exactly how it works, but when you leave the respawn zone, either through an emergency shutdown or by simply leaving the area, you get a signal strong enough to temporarily scramble any devices you have on your person.”

 

“Dude,  _ why? _ I mean, what if we're like in the middle of doing something?”

 

“Look, as I said, I don't know. I didn't come up with this system. Dell did.”

 

“So, it's all fine down there?”

 

“Scout,” The assistant sighed, a confusion of static and breath to the Scout. “Everything is fine over here. You just focus on your mission.”

 

“But–”

 

“Scout,  _ focus _ . Or else the Administrator will be considering your replacement.” 

 

Suddenly faced with the fear of losing his job, the Scout shut up and cycled on.

* * *

 

 

_ Loading ctf_flagrun _

__

* * *

 

  
  


The base wasn't hard to find. 

 

It loomed up out of the desert twilight, its cream coloured brick walls casting a crumbling silhouette against the dark sky above, with the full glory of the heavens above splayed out behind it like some sort of astral map. Smaller buildings were clustered around the map, all of them crumbling of disuse and disrepair, their days of glory long gone. 

  
  


Slowing down, the Scout stopped in front of the biggest structure, a cream brick wall that made up most of the compound, with blue detailing on one half and red on the other. 

 

Flagrun. 

 

Propping his bike up against the wall, the Scout walked around it until he found a door, it's rusted blue coating coming off in large flakes as he pushed it open with a grunt of effort. 

 

If those operatives were hiding anywhere, it was probably here.  

 

Pausing only to pull out a flashlight from his bag (after the blackout at sawmill, Soldier had seen it as his sworn duty to make sure everyone had a flashlight and a small medikit on them at all times), he walked down the dusty steps that lead into the base. 

 

He had never seen this place before, but miss Pauling had given him an old map detailing the layout of the base. The stairwell should take him to the BLU respawn room, where he would then sweep the place for any sign of the enemy. 

 

Standard procedure. 

 

The respawn room was pitch black, the lights meant to illuminate the place dead after decades of neglect. A resupply closet was against one wall, its dusty shelves devoid of the ammo and health packs that should of been there. On one wall, an old logo had been spray painted, depicting a blue building - the old emblem for BLU. 

 

Nothing had been disturbed here, not for the last three decades or so since the ‘Classic’ team had disbanded. If they were here, they hadn’t gotten in through this way.

 

The rest of the base was in a similar condition, with dust forming a thick, undisturbed layer over everything and piles of rubble from where the roof had caved in, showing the indigo sky littered with stars. The crumbling walls and roof soon gave way however, to a courtyard. 

 

The sand beneath his feet was dry and fine, a pale shade of yellow mixed with what appeared to be ash and shrapnel from countless battles fought here that gave way beneath the soles of his trainers. The walls around him were patterned with bullet holes and burn marks, sand collecting in the holes and imprints from the countless sandstorms that has graced the desert plains.

 

Any other day, he would of paused. He would've stopped to take in the place, to take feeling of awe and remembrance that would inevitably follow.

 

But not today. 

 

He walked through the courtyard, back into the ruined buildings of the map. Through here should be the main ya–

 

“Bloody 'ell…”

 

Scout froze.

 

Turning off his flashlight, he crept through the remains until finally, he caught sight of the main courtyard.

 

A fire was burning in the centre of the yard, contained by blackened oil drum, with three figures sitting before it. Another figure lay beside them, asleep in a black sleeping bag. Just to the Scout's left, a black and orange vehicle with the black mesa logo was parked, 

 

The three figures had their faces turned to the fire, their frames silhouetted by the flames before them. 

 

Stealthily leaving the cover of the building, he darted over to the truck, diving behind it before anyone could see him. He waited with bated breath for the shout as someone saw him, but no such call came. 

 

Removing his headset so he could hear better (there wasn't much use for it out here anyways – he had lost the wavelength for the Administrator about a mile ago), he peered around the truck at the three intruders. 

 

The one closest to him, the one still asleep, seemed to be the Biohazard, judging by the shock of blond hair that was just visible in the firelight. The youth was sound asleep, oblivious to the Bostonian mere feet away from him. His weapons were nowhere to be seen, but a book of some sort lay open beside him, the page showing some sort of diagram along with a horrific picture of a diseased man that really wouldn't look out of place in Medic’s lab. 

 

Several more feet away, his face portraited by the flickering fire, sat the speaker. He was a weathered man, his face tanned and leathered from years in the sun. he wore a black slouch hat, its brim flat and unbent and a dull checkered orange shirt not unlike Sniper’s own uniform. Blackish curled hair covered his chin, not thick enough to be considered a beard but yet too dense to just be a shadow. A black band with an orange emblem was visible on his arm, but Scout couldn't make out what it was. By his outfit and the unmistakable accent in his voice, the runner assumed the man to be an Australian, or at least someone who had spent a decent amount of time in that sunburnt and deadly continent. 

 

Sitting next to him, his face to the fire and to the hidden Scout, was the second person. He was clad from head to toe in black armour that after years of living in the volatile backstreets of Boston, the Scout instantly recognised as riot gear. The person (Scout could only guess at their gender from this distance) had their face obscured by a large mirrored visor, reflecting the flickering fire before it. The only other colour on its person was the orange of its emblem and undershirt, his protection lacking any of the standard markings that the Scout was used to seeing on such a person. A large transparent riot sheild was at his feet, it's smooth, reflective surface lacking any sort of stains or blemishes at all. 

 

The fourth and final person sat opposite the Australian, a bar of something in his hands. The man looked like he had just stepped straight out of one of soldier's sickeningly patriotic war films, with huge muscles that seemed to rival even the Heavy’s. He had short blond hair in a military crew cut and a large scar running down his face, cutting through his nose and just below his right eye.

 

“...When's that little wanker going ta wake up?” 

 

The other two men sighed, obviously used to their companion’s behavior. 

 

“It's four in the morning Irwin. Give tha kid a break pal.” The man in the riot gear muttered, its voice unmistakably male and tinged with an accent that sounded nearly identical to the RED Scout’s new yorker one. 

 

“Kid’d be dead by now in the bush mate.” He spat, a wad of something hitting the ground beside him with a sharp thunk. “Look, back me up ‘ere Jack. Kid would be dead in any war ‘fore sleepin’ like that.”

 

“This isn't a war.” The blond haired man said, his deep and rough voice only furthering the Scout’s belief that the man had just stepped out of the frames of an action film. “You can call the gravel wars a lot of things, but a proper fucking war ain’t one of ‘em.” crumpling up the wrapper of his bar in one hand, he tossed it into the fire. “‘Sides, what do you expect? ‘E’s a terrorist, not a damn soldier.”

 

“A terrorist.” Irwin echoed. “That's a bloody weird way of putting it.”

 

“Look, I don’t give a damn ‘bout what you call him.” Jack said, pulling what looked like a cigar from a pouch on his belt.

 

The two dissolved into an argument, but the Scout’s attention was suddenly wrenched from them as the youth in the sleeping bag before him shifted. His form rolled over and faced the Scout, his watery blue eyes half open and unfocused as he awoke. 

 

The Scout started and ducked back behind the truck, praying that the Biohazard hadn't seen him. There was a groan and something muttered in accented german followed by a sudden lull in the argument. 

 

“‘Ad a nice nap there sleeping beauty?” The Australian snarked, and Scout swore that the man was smirking.

 

“How long haff you been up?“ The Swiss asked, sleep still dulling his voice as the Scout heard him get up and walk over to the fire. 

 

“Too long.” The New Yorker muttered. 

 

“Last hour mate. Loik you should’a been.”

 

“But...vhy? The Commander should not be back for another…” He paused and Scout poked his head around to see him pull out a watch from his pocket. He didn't have his suit, instead wearing a getup similar to the Medic’s, minus a vest and boots. “ _ Scheiße! _ ” The Biohazard spun around and the Scout ducked back just in time to avoid detection. There was the sound of panicked rustling and more german profanity, but the Scout didn't dare look to see what he was doing. His mind was preoccupied by more important things.

 

Of course the Commander would be here. Why wouldn't he? 

 

He tried to calm his racing mind, but all he could think of was how stupid he had been. Why the hell had he taken this mission? He was out here all alone, with no way of contacting the rest of his team and the only people who knew where he was certainly weren't the most trustworthy bunch he’d ever met. 

 

Because he wanted them to stop teasing him. Because he wanted them to stop mocking him. 

 

Well, coming back dead wouldn't help anything.

 

He was so deep into his thoughts that when another noise sounded, he had ignored it. 

 

To be fair, it was one he had heard pretty much every day for the last five or so years, but he still should've caught it.

 

The noise of a teleporter.

 

The moment he realised what he was hearing, he jerked his head around the parked vehicle just in time to see a bright flash of white light emanate from the other side of the courtyard, illuminating a very familiar orange and black device, along with a tall figure. 

 

For a moment, the Scout was torn between fear and utter shock. 

 

_ A teleporter _ . 

 

Teleporters like that were used for getting the team closer to the front line. So where was the entrance? Black Mesa? Did they have any others? 

 

Was there one in their base?

 

_ And how the fucking hell did they get it? _

 

He ducked back behind the truck, fear slowly clouding his thoughts. He knew the fear of the enemy having teleporter in your own base all too well, but this was different. These men weren't limited by the Administrator's rules about only one pair of teleporters online at a time, or the one about no two way teleporters. 

 

That thought in itself scared him nearly as much as the man who had stepped off the device.

 

There was silence.

 

The Scout waited for someone to say something, for someone to break the quiet, but no further noise was made. What was going on? He didn't dare check again.

 

The silence played havoc on his frayed nerves. Why hadn't anyone said anything? Had they seen him? Where they simply waiting for him to crack, for him to scream at the excruciating silence with the desire to fill it with something that wasn't suspense? 

 

And then finally…

 

“Sir?” 

 

The Biohazards voice cracked a little as he spoke, suddenly tinted with fear. The silence was broken, but Scout’s heart and mind still raced so fast that it made his head light. 

 

He had to focus. 

 

Trying to take a deep breath as quietly as he could, he turned around and leaned against the truck as he tried to push down a fear that he had tried everything to smother, but yet had not disappeared. 

 

He was fine. They hadn't seen him. Of course they hadn’t. He was great at stealth – he’d said so himself. And they wouldn't see him. 

 

Swallowing hard, he turned his attention back to the people behind him. 

 

“...all set up. Operation Overwatch is a go. Best of luck men.” The Commander finished, stepping back onto the teleporter, along with the Australian. There was a flash of light and the two men disappeared.

 

The remaining three instantly busied themselves, grabbing weaponry and checking ammo before hurrying back to the recharged teleporter.  

 

The three of them were all armed now: the Biohazard in the white contamination suit the Scout had first seen him in, the riot gear clad man holding an assault rifle with a clear riot shield strapped to his back, and the final man holding a large black gun of some sort, both hands gripping it in a way reminiscent of the heavy and his own mini-guns.  

 

“Well then.” The Biohazard said, his voice low and steady, his previous fear not quite gone, but certainly hidden from plain sight. “Tau? Assault?”

 

The two men muttered a reply at their respective call signs – the buff American to the former and the shield wielding man to the latter. 

 

They stepped onto the teleporter.

 

There was an all too familiar whir and then with a flash, they were gone.

 

The Scout waited a full minute before leaving his hiding spot, walking over to the device, Its arms whirling as it charged up again.

 

What to do now.

 

He needed to go back. That was obvious. He couldn't do anything more here. 

 

Or could he? 

 

As he stared down at the teleporter, a plan began to form in his mind. If they were going to attack something, it would be them, right? The other end of that teleporter was probably somewhere on a base or outside of one.

 

Or, within communication range with the base. 

 

And within respawn range. 

 

He might not be able to stop them, but if they were within respawn range, he could certainly try. Buy his team a few minutes perhaps.

 

Taking out his pistol from his pocket, he loaded and, making sure the safety was off, stepped into the glowing disk.

 

And the, with a nauseating flash, he was gone.

 

 

* * *

 

**so...new people! and the plot came back! hooray! finaly things are getting intersting.**   


  
**...I think**   
  


**also, before I confuse you any more, ctf_flagrun isn't a tf2 map. its a tfc map. (well, officaly anyways)**

 


	11. Riftwalker

_Loading CTF_2fort…._

* * *

 

A second.

 

Teleporters took a second. Sometimes not even that.

 

You had approximately a second to figure out a plan before you reappeared at the other end and stepped off that glowing disk.

 

Not that Scout had a plan. Hell, he avoided things like plans where he could. Most of the time, the team’s plans were boring and always assigned him to boring roles like intel capture that always took him away from the main fight going on in the middle of the map.

 

So when the light cleared from his vision and he found himself standing in the RED intel room, the Scout didn't even pause. Leaping off the disk of light below him, he wildly pointed his weapon before him, finger twitching on the trigger as he searched for his enemy.

 

But the darkened room was empty.

 

Lowering his gun, the Scout raised a hand to his headset and activated it.

 

Static.

 

Not the faint background static you got when you were simply out of range, but a hard, obtrusive static that made his ears hurt.

 

Ripping off the headset, he glared down at the device in shock, a sinking feeling going through him. He knew _that_ noise too well.

 

Someone or something was interfering, no, _blocking_ his signal.

 

What the fuck?

 

Shoving the malfunctioning set in his bag, he readjusted his hat and regripped his gun. He had get back to his base before anyone saw him.

 

The room was next to pitch black, with the only source of light being the pitiful orange illumination from the teleporter exit. There was something else in the room, emitting a low hum like some sort of computer bank.

 

Pulling out the flashlight from before out of his bag, the Scout flicked it on and scanned the room. Someone had tipped over the desk the intelligence usually sat on on its side as a sort of defensive blockade. Behind the blockade was a large computer of some sort, cables hanging off it and connected to the wall behind it, which had had all its plasterboard stripped off, revealing a web of wires and circuitry. Tucked in one of the corners of the room, the orange teleporter he had stepped off sat, arms silently whirring in preparation of another trip.

 

The rest of the room was empty. And silent.

 

Holding the flashlight in one hand and his pistol in the other, the Scout quietly left the room, sneaking down the corridor and into the chamber beyond. His right trigger twitched in anticipation, his mind on the very edge as he waited for someone to make their appearance.

 

But there was no one. No one waited for him in the darkened room. Swallowing away his fear, he pressed on.

 

Where were they? And where was the RED team? Surely at least the double-crossing rat that was the Spy would know if his base was being invaded…

 

Shaking his head, he turned his attention to the room’s layout. He had time to think about that later. He had three possible escape routes. One through the courtyard, one though the hayloft and one through the enemy respawn room and the battlements. His mind quickly turned over his options before ruling two of them out. If they had set camp anywhere, it would be the hayloft. It had both access to a respawn room and a view over the courtyard.

 

Turning to the right, he walked over to the corridor leading up to the battlements. From there, it would be simple. The same as all the millions of times he had been caught here, in this near exact situation.

 

The silence was unnerving. For the last five years, and even before that, the scout was used to there always being _some_ sort of background noise, be it the chaotic orchestra of battle, the desert ambience of the Teufortian plains, the general, almost soothing din of a city or the low hum of computers and the other untold electronic marvels that dominated the lower levels of their bases. But here, for some reason, it was as deathly quiet as a tomb. No computers hummed, the battlefront about was missing the usual gunshots and cries of ‘MEDIC!’ that usually dominated it and whatever noises made by the night wildlife outside failed to penetrate to such deep levels. It was a silence that turned his slow and careful crawl to a walk, his walk to a run and then finally his run into a panicked sprint.

 

His path was dark, lit only by the narrow beam of his torch, casting strange and otherworldly shadows along the red and white walls as the light caught the imperfections of the wall and the other things attached to its surface.

 

As the scout rounded the final corner, the light caught at something on the ground, the harsh white glare from it temporarily blinding him as he sprinted forwards...

  


**SNAP**

 

Scout screamed.

 

He fell over onto the rough wood of the battlements, his left leg splayed out behind him, held back by what felt like a claw. It dug into his leg – warm, rich red blood dribbling down as the claw sliced through tendons and the thick line of scar tissue located there. He dropped the torch in surprise, its dull blue body rolling away from him out of his grasp and down onto the field below.

 

Biting his tongue and trying to keep back another scream, he jerked his head around to see what had ensnared him. His left leg was caught in a dull silver bear trap, a pair of metal jaws clamping down onto his calf with sharpened teeth of steel. His once white socks were stained red with blood, the excess blood spilling onto the dusty crimson floor. The trap was attached to the faded wood of the battlements by a thick stake driven into the ground, preventing the Scout from trying to wriggle away.

 

Letting out a muffled yelp of pain, he tried to pull his leg free of the trap, only for its teeth to dig further into his flesh. He had to get himself out of this, before someone found him, before…

Letting out a groan, he flopped back onto the floor. He felt tired all of a sudden and he couldn't quite figure out why. Maybe it was the blood draining out of his leg at an alarming rate or maybe it was the fact that he hadn't had one of his energy drinks since…

 

Blinking rapidly, he tried to remember when the last time he’s drunk a can of crit-a-cola or bonk! was. he’d a can before bed...had he had one when miss Pauling woke him up? No, he hadn't. He'd been too busy panicking about the Admin to get a can.

 

Whenever it had been, it had been too long ago. His mind was sluggish and the scout felt his thoughts slow as he tried to think of what to do next. Him mind was a confusion of panic and  fear that was an amalgamation of fast and slow too nauseating for him to follow properly. He needed caffeine, but…

 

A noise cut through the still to quiet air and the Scout froze. Footsteps. Heavy booted footsteps rhythmically sounding against the dry wood of the base floor.

 

Adrenaline and fear suddenly took over, filling the gaps that his caffeine crash had left. He tried to pull his leg free, but he only managed to scream as the trap dug even deeper into him, causing fresh blood to flow down his bloodstained clothes in streams.

 

“Bloody ‘ell.”

 

The Scout stopped trying to free his foot and looked up.

 

Standing over him, a nicotine yellow grin plastered on his face, was the Australian.

 

“They should’a told me we were huntin’ rabbits,” He leaned down so that his face was inches above the scout’s. “Would’a brought a snare.”

 

The Scout recoiled from the man as he took ahold of his chin with a rough, calloused hand. His breath was saturated with the distinct odour of chewing tobacco, his jaw moving as he chewed the substance. He looked down at the scout with dull green eyes, full of a sick sort of glee at finding something in his trap.

 

“Who...who the fuck are you?” The Scout swallowed and met the man’s gaze, his steel blue eyes clashing with the man's forest green ones.

 

“Who?” The man let out a low chuckle. “They call me the Trapper. Only man in the outback that can catch anything and everything. ‘Cluding little varmints like you, bunny boy.”

 

“Yeah? Well, I’m the fucking Scout pal,” he grinned, brazen confidence taking over his fear. “Fastest thing on two feet an’ the last thing you’ll ever see pal.”

 

The Trapper snorted.

“He was right ‘bout you, ya know that? Ya just a kid. A little, smartassed, double-talkin’ little wanker.” he pulled out a large, curved blade that faintly gleamed silver in the slowly rising light. “Ya just a pathetic little cun-”

 

The Scout didn't hear him finish the sentence. He had already descended into the black purgatory of respawn.

 

* * *

  


Thirty minutes.

 

Thirty minutes of purgatory.

 

Thirty minutes of that silent, otherworldly hell. Thirty minutes of not knowing what was happening.

 

He gasped.

 

He was back in the real world now. His left leg still hurt as if the trap was still attached to it and his head was hurting from where the Trapper had slammed his kukri into it, but he was alive.

 

Sitting up, he turned his attention to his still aching foot. It was once again whole and pulling down the sock that cover most his calf, he could see that it was fine, albeit for the large scar running down the inside of his leg.

 

But that was normal.

 

Shivering a little at the deformity, he pulled the sock back up and got up. He had to tell his team what was going on, if they hadn't already dealt with the intruders…

 

Pulling a much needed can of crit-a-cola out of his bag, the Scout opened it and drained the contents in a single gulp. Walking out of the respawn room, he found himself in the hayloft and…

 

The Scout froze.

 

Down below in the courtyard, a small-ish fire blazed, casting the place in a warm yellow light that contrasted sharply with the purples and blues of the incoming twilight. But that wasn't what made him pause. When you lived with a pyromaniac, fires were pretty much the norm.

 

What made him pause was the figure at the fire.

 

Someone sat at the fire, and their silhouette was not one that the scout recognised. It was sitting cross legged on the dusty ground, back arched as sat hunched over, its head resting on one hand.

 

Cautiously, the Scout inched across the loft towards the landing, staying in the shadows cast by the fire. The figure was muscular, but not as muscular as the broad-shouldered American that the scout had seen by the fire in flagrun. Something was detailed on their arm and shoulder in blue ink, but the Scout wasn't close enough to make out exactly what it was. He (Scout assumed it was a he by its muscular figure) lacked the armbands the rest of the black mesa team, instead wearing a white tank top and a pair of black, thick work gloves.

 

He also appeared to be asleep.

 

Smirking, the Scout watched the sleeper for a few moments.

 

“An’ what's your name pal? Heh, probably somethin’ stupid like...Guard or Watchman or something.” he mused, before retreating back into the shadows of the base. While this added complication was annoying, it wasn't something that was critical to deal with right now. Like any secret base worth its salt, the BLU half of 2fort had half a dozen other entrances and exits.

 

Turning back to the respawn room, the scout walked back into the white room and turned to the door that lead down to the training room.

 

Pushing open the door, he ran.

 

Taking the steps down two at a time, he landed on the polished linoleum of the training room floor, skidding to a halt before taking off again in the direction of the other exit out of the room.

 

Now in the base proper, he skidded to a halt and looked around for a moment to get his bearings. The basement corridor was silent in the early hour, its inhabitants blissfully unaware of the danger outside. The training room was at the very end of the basement corridor, directly opposite the communications room and next to the maintenance room.

 

Setting off at a sprint, he ran full tilt down the corridor, the rubber soles of his trainers squeaking against the grey and blue vinyl floor as he ran blindly through the darkened hall. He needed to get to the team, to the admin and to the intelligence before they–

 

The maintenance door opened and before he could even register what was happening, the scout’s run was suddenly halted. 

 

He hit the figure coming out of the door, not so much hitting him as more tripping over him as his tall and lanky form awkwardly collided with the short and squat one of his victim.

 

He fell to the cold floor, his arm hitting the ground first and sending a short stab of pain through his body. Instinct took over his mind and he rolled to his side, pushing a foot against the floor to get himself into a semi-crouch, from which he sprung back up into a standing position. 

 

“Scout?” 

 

In a single, fluid motion, honed by too many years on the team, the Scout whipped around, pulling out his pistol from his pocket and aimed it at the man behind him. 

 

Thankfully, the man was one he recognised. 

 

His fear not yet abated, he lowered his gun, his mind still racing too fast for anyone to make coherent sense of.

 

“Scout, what in tarn–”

 

“Black Mesa!” He squeaked, taking a few steps backwards towards the stairs leading up to the rest of the base. “Theyreattattackinganwegottagetouttherebeforetheydosomething–”

 

“Whoa, whoa, slow down son.” The engineer interrupted, trying to make sense of the scout before he sprinted away again. “Ah can’t–”

 

But the runner had already taken off again, into the darkened reaches of the base. 

  
And then, mere moments later, the base exploded into a flurry of action and red wailing klaxons and the rest of the engineer’s sentence was drowned out by the chaos.

* * *

**and I'm late again. fuck. my bad though, I broke my left arm and painkillers don't make a very good muse**

  



	12. Blue as a Dodger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ending of chapter 11/riftwalker has been edited. I would recommend giving it (or at least the last 2 paragraphs) a reread before moving on.

Minutes later, eight men and a Pyro found themselves gathered around their intelligence desk, all in various states of wakefulness and undress. While medic had been off trying to find Sniper, Scout had tried contacting the administrator once again, only to be met with the same wall of static as before. 

 

The Scout held back a yawn that threatened him and looked around the table. Medic sat to his left, his tired brown eyes open wide in fearful alertness. Pyro sat on his right, smelling strongly of woodsmoke and impatiently drumming it's gloved fingers on the table. Around on the other side of the table, the Spy had pulled out a computer from somewhere and was hastily typing on it, a look of mild concern and annoyance on his balaclava clad face with the Sniper was leaning a head on the frenchman’s shoulder, a few quiet snores emanating from him as a pair of haphazardly balanced aviators hid his eyes. The Engineer sat beside the two, arms folded and face unreadable behind his goggles and hardhat. 

 

The rest of the team was gathered around the table, not looking particularly worried. They had all been woken up at odd hours by attacks, so the gravity of the situation failed to come across to them. Demoman was glaring at everyone with his one eye as he downed a bottle of scotch in a desperate effort to starve off his incoming hangover; heavy was grumbling something in Russian as the Soldier eyed the map before the Scout suspiciously.

 

Shrugging off his bag to pull out another can of crit-a-cola from it, the Scout turned from the gathered around him to the paper before him. It was a simple map of the base, similar to the ones they used when planning an attack against the RED team, the only difference being that here, their enemy was not marked in red or grey marker, but in orange. 

 

Cracking open the can and having a swig from it, her turned back to the team. 

“Alright. This is what I got.” He pointed at the other team’s intelligence room. “They got a tele up 'ere, and then some sorta trap up here in the sniper bit–”

 

“Battlements.” Spy corrected.

 

“What he said. Anyways, I also saw a bunch of guys go through the teleporter earlier–”

 

“Now hold up a second,” The Engineer interrupted, sitting up straight and leering at the Scout through his tinted goggles. “don’t anyone 'ere find it a  _ mite _ suspicious that scout 'ere happened ta be out an’ about on tha very night  _ this _ happens?”

 

A contemplative silence fell upon the team, as they all turned their attention to the Scout, awaiting an explanation.

 

“Wait a sec…” The Scout put down his can and got up off his seat. “Are ya accusing  _ me _ of being one of  _ them? _ ” His voice was suddenly a low growl as he leaned over the table, returning the Texan’s leer. 

 

The team remained silent as their attention turned from the runner to the mechanic. 

 

“Well, ah can’t help but notice how all  _ very co-inci-dental _ this all is...”

 

“Goddamn it hardhat!” The Scout slammed the table before him. “Ya wanna sit here an’ call me names an’ shit?  _ Fine! _ Do that! But don’t blame me when we get  _ fucking invaded!  _ I risked my  _ fucking life _ ta go out there and get this, and  _ this _ is what I get?”

 

Silence.

 

Whatever weight the Engineer’s words might’ve held was lost as everyone stared at the Scout. The runner however, didn't seem to notice his sudden attention, his gaze focused instead on the Texan before him, a look of sudden fury on his face. 

 

“Why...why would you even  _ think  _ that?”

 

“Because Nathaniel, ya can’t trust anyone.  _ Especially _ not here.” From behind his mirrored lenses, he glared at everyone suspiciously. 

 

“I ain’t a spy pal!”

 

“And how am ah to know that?  _ Every time _ we've been attacked, you've been nowhere to be found.  _ You _ were the one who found the fuse box,  _ you _ were missin’ when tha attacked us at gravelpit an’  _ you _ were tha one who found them at brickyard. It’s always been  _ you _ who's found ‘em.”

 

“I’m a fucking scout! What the fuck do you expect from me?!”

 

“Ah’m just saying that ah can’t help but be suspicious of what team ya really on.”

 

The Scout paused, staring at the Engineer for a second, his expression startled and confused. 

 

“They  _ shot me. _ ” He collapsed back into his seat, his anger ebbing away in defeat. “They  _ nearly killed me _ . And ya still asking if I'm on your side.” He looked at the Engineer again, his eyes meeting the expressionless goggles of the worker. “Spies show their colour when shot hardhat. Shoot me all ya want, but I ain't gonna change colour; I’m still gonna be blue as Dodger.” 

 

The Scout slumped even further down on the chair, pulling his cap down over his eyes as he did so. 

 

“I’m still gonna be blue…” He muttered, withdrawing his head into the cerulean collar of his jacket. How could  _ anyone _ doubt him like that? Would they doubt anyone else like that? 

 

Would they?

 

“ _ You two _ .” A rather tired sounding Spy coughed, capturing everyone's attention. “If what Scout says is true – and  _ I _ have no reason to doubt him – we cannot afford to waste any more time on  _ this _ .” 

 

“Well, ya got a plan pal?” The Scout demanded, his voice still slightly injured from being doubted.

 

He sighed and took the map from the Scout and pulled out a pen of his own. “If we have no communication, that means they have also breached  _ zhese _ rooms.” he circled a pair of rooms, one deep in the RED base and one within the BLU one. “Scout, pyro, you two shall go through the sewers while demoman and I find a way to disarm the traps on les battlements. We will zhen meet up  _ here _ .” he circled the courtyard just outside the entrance to the RED intelligence room. “From zhere, we shall assess the situation and act accordingly. Bruce, Heavy, you two shall be defending from the battlements on our side. Engineer shall defend zhe intelligence room, Soldier shall deal with zhe person here…”, He tapped the orange circle next to their respawn room. “...and Medic shall be in the communications room.  Zhe  _ instant _ outside communications go back up, get helen on the line.” He looked up from the map. “Zhey have not disabled respawn _ yet _ , but we can not assume zhat it will  _ remain _ on. Avoid contact when possible and reserve your ammunitions – we don't know who or  _ what _ is out there, or what zhey are capable of.” He stood up and looked around at the 8 other classes gathered before him. “You have five minutes to prepare yourself. I suggest you pack something quiet and a health kit.” he nodded and spun around, walking straight out of the room.

 

The rest of the room instantly sprung into action, people talking to each other in hurried voices as the Scout got out of his seat and slipped through the room towards one of the exits. 

 

“Scmph?” 

 

He was nearly out of the room when he felt someone put a gloved hand on his shoulder, causing him to suddenly whip around, hands held out defensively before him. 

 

“Mrpph!” The Pyro let out a surprised noise and quickly withdrew its hand, putting its hands up and taking a step back in surprise. 

 

“Christ…” The runner muttered – more to himself than to the firestarter – as he lowered his hands. “What’dya want?”

 

“Yssmh...ymph mmk?” 

 

“What? I mean…” He paused, and then sighed. “Py, ya believe me right? That I’m on your side?”

 

The Pyro paused for a single moment, and for a single, excruciating moment, the Scout couldn't figure out  _ why.  _

 

“‘Crmph mh drh.” The pyro put a hand on the Scout's shoulder, partly to try and comfort the runner, but mainly to try and stop him from running off again. “Nmh cnmm nm, lrts gm.” 

 

* * *

  
  


“Jesus…” the Scout swore, looking down the darkened sewers before him, a lump of fear forming in his throat. 

 

“Wrpht? Ymh scrmmph?” The Pyro asked, waving its blinking blue neon sign at the darkness, its flickering blue light doing nothing against the pitch black beyond. 

 

“What? Me? Scared?” The runner let out a nervous laugh and swallowed hard. “No! Why would I be scared…” He trailed off as the Pyro let out a muffled snort of laughter. 

 

“Cnmm nm.” The Firestarter walked past the Scout, stepping down into the stagnant water below, the water lapping harmlessly at its boots as it walked forwards, forcing the Scout to follow.  

 

Gingerly, the Scout followed, the water seeping into his thin trainers, causing shivers to go through his body. He had done this a million times before, both in and out of battle, so why would now be any different?  

 

They walked through the pipes in silence, the only source of noise being the faint splash of their feet against water and concrete green with organic slime. 

 

Soon, they were out, the perfectly clear night sky tinged with the purple of the incoming day showing above with only the bridge above them covering it. The water only grew colder as Scout stepped from the shallow puddles of the pipe to the full on lake that separated the two bases, making him pause for a second before diving in. 

 

The water surrounded him and for a single moment, he was alone. The water above refracted the shadows and stars above into a mosaic of white specks and a black and indigo sky, a view that he caught a clear glimpse of for only a single second before the water became too much and he had to close his eyes against the tepid liquid. 

 

He swam on, guided only by a knowledge of the map gained from years fighting on it. Four strokes and then he was on the other side, hands grasping the slippery edge of the pipe into the RED base.  

 

Pulling himself up, he let the water drain off him before continuing on, his now soaked outfit clinging to his cold body, water dripping down his neck and his back. 

 

He didn't stop until he had reached the stairs, until he had reached somewhat dry land. 

 

“Yeesh…” He muttered, removing his jacket and then his tee-shirt and ringing the vaguely green water out of them. “...Why the fuck did Spy make us go that way?”

 

There was a grunt as the pyro followed him up to the landing, followed by a bout of coughing. 

 

“Ermph.” the thing muttered as it pulled its mask back into position. “Frmphng wrmtr  _ evmrywhrm. _ ”

 

“Well…” The Scout put back on his (still wet top) and tied his jacket around his waist before looking up at the stairs before him. “Guess we gotta go up now.” 

 

There was a pause as both classes pulled out their guns before silently ascending the stairs into the RED base proper. 

 

Any bickering or talk that might've occurred between the duo was replaced with professional silence as they crept through the base with, their eyes constantly scanning for even the slightest detail out of place. 

 

But nothing appeared to be out of place, every single strand of hay and every single worm-eaten board of wood was as it should be, without a single marking that even foretold of the countless battles fought here under the guise of the gravel wars. 

 

And then, they were out under the starlit sky again. 

 

The courtyard was empty, without a single thing missing or new. 

 

Scout froze.

 

Where was Spy and Demo? Surely  _ they  _ would be here by now. Had they been delayed? Stopped?  _ killed?  _

 

“ _ Sault _ .” 

 

The Scout spun around, an inhumanly fast reflex honed by years of dealing with the very class that was behind him. Thankfully, his mind kicked in at the last second, raising his gun up and away from the Spy before his finger could tighten around the trigger.

 

“Jesus…” He muttered, lowering the gun. “...Why’ya gotta do that cheeseball?”

 

“Zhe area is clear.” He said, ignoring the Scout's complaint. “Demoman is on the battlements, inspecting the traps. Did you two meet any resistance?”

 

“'Sides gross ass shit water? Nah. You?”

 

“No one here.” He looked around, his face a carefully constructed mask of calm. “Either zhey are inside zhe base or…” he paused.

 

“Or what?” 

 

“Nevermind.” he walked towards the stairs leading upwards and beckoned them to follow. “Come on now. We need a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp. I'm still alive. Somehow. My arm is compleatly healed and I'm hopefuly back to updating bimonthly (not the valve-comic-that-we're-never-going-to-fucking-get-bi-monthly. the other one.)
> 
> Also, I got a handful of shorts that might be going up...soonish/whenever I get enough courage to post a...romance. Because I legit did that and fuck, why did I write a romance? 
> 
> Also, I'm gonna be redoing a handful chapters to fix up a few plotholes/changing headcanons/stupid writing/formatting. These will be pretty major changes, as I'll be rewriting the things, but I'll make sure to notify you guys about it in here. Because hey, I just found out this is a thing. Neat! *pokes chapter notes*


	13. Overvåkning

"Ach, look at that," The scotsman picked up the trap before them, holding it up to the feeble light cast by incoming morning. "Nasty bit 'o work 'ere. Can't say ah envy ya laddie."

 

The Scout swallowed nervously and nodded, his eyes transfixed on the metal bear trap in the demoman's hands. His blood was still visible on the device, staining the silver of its surface the dull brown-red of old blood.

Just looking at the thing made him nervous, despite the fact that the thing was harmless now. He felt his left leg twitch slightly, confirming that it was indeed underneath him, and not in the maw of that... thing .

 

"Ah mean, ya should be happy ya didn't hit this ." he waved a hand at the smaller disk shaped devices lying before them. " that would'a been messy."

 

"Christ...those like mines or something?"

 

"Aye. Military grade explosive mines. One false step an' kablooie! " He waved his arms arms about, illustrating his point. "Ain't gonna be enough o' ya left ta bury in a fecking soup can."

 

"Yeesh…" The Scout muttered, sitting down next to the demoman.

 

"Ach, nasty things. If ya want more, 'sure Josef or Doe'll have a tale or two ta tell you about these things...Scout?"

The runner jerked his head up, tearing his gaze from the bloodstained beartrap. The idea that someone would use such a thing, not to outright kill, but to deliberately maim someone else scared him a little, but yet he was filled with a sort of morbid curiosity towards the thing. Had they disabled respawn, he would've lost his life out here, or at least certainly his leg…

He felt something on his leg tighten and he suddenly looked down in fear, only to find that he had been clutching at it the whole time, the raised smooth line of scar tissue visible through his sock.

 

"yeh alright laddie? Ye looking a wee pale there…"

 

"What? No no, I'm good." He quickly moved the leg under him, so that he was kneeling instead of sitting cross legged.

 

"Y'sure?"

 

"Yeah!" He let out a nervous laugh. "It's just...y'know, this ain't exactly what I signed up for."

 

"Eh? Then what did'ja sign up for? A tea party?"

 

The Scout shrugged and focused his eyes on his hands.

"Dunno ta be honest. 'Mean, I kinda thought this'd be just be another job. That I'd be in an' out again in a month. Didn't think... this would happen…" His gazed lifted from the gauze of his hand wraps to the bloodstained trap before him.

 

" You didn't think ." A French voice sounded behind him, full of smug contempt. " Of course you didn't. "

Both men flinched as the Spy suddenly reappeared out of mid air, a smug smile on his face as he flicked out his cigarette case to remove a slender white object from it.

 

"Jesus!" The runner yelled, jumping up only to be pushed back down by the Spy beside him. "How long were ya there?!"

 

"Doesn't matter." He took a drag of his cigarette. "...what did you think you would be doing?"

 

"Well, y'know, standard merc stuff. Killin' people that stay dead an' then–Hey! why the fuck does that matter? I thought we were under attack or something!"

 

"Oh relax." He pulled out a lighter and tried to light his cigarette. "Zhis is all according to plan." he turned his attention from the Scout to the lighter in his hands. " Quelle? Pas encore! " He snapped the lighter shut and slid it away, looking back up at the duo before him. "Does anyone here have a–"

His question was suddenly cut off by an annoyed sounding mumble as the Pyro appeared behind the Scout and the Spy, its flare gun held tightly in its left hand as if prepared to fire at any moment. Its face was – as always – blank, but its posture carried a certain attitude of suspicion as it looked down at the Spy, the weapon in its hand twitching as if it wanted to fire upon the frenchman. Hesitantly putting the gun away on its belt, it walked over and sat down on the other side of Scout, leaning a head on one arm as it turned away from Spy.

 

"Sooo..." The Scout gestured for the Spy to continue, too impatient to let the man continue on his own accord. "We got like, a plan or something here? Or are we just gonna sit around on our asses all night?"

 

"All in due time Nathanial. But first, a lighter? I'm sure your little...friend over there has at least one if you'll be so kind to act as ambassador for our little personal daemon…" he smirked, as if he has just shared a joke with the runner.

 

Letting out an annoyed sigh, the firestarter pulled out a heavy silver lighter worn with age and use out of one of its pouches and tossed it in the general direction of the double agent.

Quickly catching it before the heavy object hit him in the head, Spy muttered something in french, but used the offered lighter anyway, flicking it on to produce a tall blue-green flame, along with a distinctly chemical smell that reminded Scout of his old high school chemistry lab.

The spy flinched away from the flame for a second, his face wrinkling in disgust as he stared at the flame like it was some eldritch creation before he recovered and gingerly lit his cigarette, the green flame turning to the yellow as it caught the paper.

 

"Well zhen," He gave the lighter to the Scout before pulling out a square of paper from his jacket.

 

"Yeah 'zhen'. Ya got a plan or what?"

 

Unfolding the piece of paper, the Spy revealed it to be a map of the base, similar in design to the one the Scout had used earlier in the intelligence room, but with markings in pen, not orange marker.

"Zhe enemy has set up base in the RED intelligence room. Zhere is a teleporter, a computer and one person guarding it. Pyro, Demoman, you two shall secure and defend the area while scout and I shall take care of zhe man and zhe teleporter." he commanded, pointing at the map to further demonstrate as he did so. " Comprendre? "

There was a round of muttered agreements, before the Demoman and the Pyro left, wielding a yellow and black striped grenade launcher and a dragon headed flamethrower respectively.

"Well zhen," The Spy picked up the diagram, folding it up as he stood up. Pausing to stub out his cigarette and adjust something on his watch, he turned to Scout, an enigmatic smile on his face as he offered him a hand up. "Shall we?"

 

"Yeesh," He muttered, refusing the offered hand as he got up by himself. "Tone the creepiness down willya? I ain't Snipes."

The Spy hesitated for a second, his smile frozen on his face like some sort of mask before resuming his normal face and movement.

Letting loose a smirk of his own at seeing the Frenchman pause, the runner pulled out his gun and walked past the momentarily stunned Spy, the Scout made his way towards the corridors leading into the base proper.

"So, ya comin' or what?"

 

* * *

 

 

"So, where's that guy?" The Scout impatiently asked, hoping on the spot as he waited for the Spy to finish fiddling with his watch. They'd come all the way down to the intelligence room without meeting anyone and he was starting to get impatient. The fact that they Spy was being painfully slowwasn't helping matters either. The caffeine from his last can of soda was starting to fade and in the rush and excitement of being invaded, he'd neglected to restock his bag. And besides, standing around watching Spy do all the sneaking around was starting to get a little boring.

 

"He's around zhe corner." The Spy finally responded, his form returning to full opacity. "Just go in and distract him. Do nothing else."

 

"Yeah yeah, I get the point." He started to move, but the spy grabbed his arm before he could take off.

 

"I am serious Scout. We know nothing about zhis man or what he can do. Just distract him and I will take him down. Zhere is no need for you to play zhe hero here."

 

"O- kay! " he tore himself from Spy's grip and spun back around, ignoring any further protests from the man. He had a job to do. He didn't need Spy or anyone over his head telling him what to do…

He pushed those thoughts out of his head and he rounded the corner.

 

He had a job to do.

The intelligence room was darkened as he ran in, the only source of light being the feeble orange light of the silently whirring teleporter and the amber glow of a computer monitor.

 

He froze.

 

On top of a crate of some sort, coloured wires going from it to the racks of computers around them like a spiderweb of cables, was a large monitor, a figure standing behind its bulk. The figure looked up and for a moment, the only thing the scout could make out on its face was a pair of square glasses, their lenses a solid sheet of orange light reflected off the screen before him.

 

"Nathaniel Judas Palmer ," The figure stepped away from the computer, letting its orange light illuminate his face properly. "What are you doing down here?" he had on an unnaturally large grin, an expression that conveyed hostility rather than happiness.

 

"I'm here ta take you out pal!" The Scout pulled out his pistol and aimed it at the man. He didn't care what Spy said, this man was going down.

 

"Really?" The man's orange saturated face raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming on his lips. "'eg would love to see you try."

 

"Oh you are so on p-"

 

**"Beep"**

 

The Scout paused, more in confusion than in fear. What on earth…

His question was abruptly answered as suddenly, an orange laser shone out of the darkness, focusing on his torso.

 

**"Beep"**

 

The thing beeped again, but instead of making an actual 'beep' noise, it simply said the word out aloud.

Turning his attention to it, he saw an egg shaped device of some sort, ita case Black and orange with a single orange light in the middle, watching him inquisitively like an eye of some sort.

 

"What the hell is that?" The runner demanded, his cocky-iness being replaced with bemusement.

 

"Oh this?" The man's grin changed into one of pride as he walked over to the device, and put a loving hand on its orange and black shell, eliciting what sounded like a purr from it. "This is Siri. She's the reason you do not want to 'take me out'. Si heisan Siri. "

 

**"Heisan"**

 

"Dude, what the fuck is that...thing? 'it like some sort of sentry..." He tried to step closer to the thing known as Siri, only for it let out another vocal beep closely followed by the sound of what could best be described of a sentry readying itself. Not wanting to see what would happen next, the Scout froze in the hopes that it wouldn't do whatever it was going to do next to him.

 

"Siri is not a thing! " The man exclaimed indignantly. "She is better than your sentries ! She is my precious!" The man stepped away from his turret and towards the Scout, revealing his full form to him.

He had unkempt dirty blond hair, an oily sheen apparent on it in the ambient orange light. His glasses were thick and appeared to be several sizes too big, provoking him to push them back up his nose with the palm of his hand as he stared down at the runner with grey eyes. He wore a buttoned up black shirt and for a second, the Scout caught a glimpse of the emblems on his arms – a pair of angular brackets detailed in orange. He was tall, but the rest of his form seemed unnaturally thin, further contributing to his general scraggly appearance.

"I designed her, built her and programmed her and if it wasn't for those idiots at Aperture, I would've finished her too." He continued, slowly circling the runner like some sort of human carrion crow. "Do you know what they said about my Siri? They said that she was flawed . That she would never work. And then they had the audacity to fire me, one of their finest scientists over her, over what is my finest piece, my magnum opus!" He stopped and turned to the Scout. "And do you know what?" He grinned that grin of his, bearing no emotion but hostility. "I. Don't. Care. Not anymore. Not anymore. I have Black Mesa now. And they know genius when they see it. And look at me now!" He made a sweeping gesture towards the mess of wires and computers around them. "Do you know who I am now? I am The Technician now, not some scientist to be ignored or belittled over my creations! I control every one of your computers, I know everything." He leaned in closer to the Scout. "I know everything Judas. Every-"

 

**BLAM**

 

The man's head exploded as the form of the Spy shimmered into existence behind him, a smoking revolver in his hands.

 

"Fix zhat you glorified labourer." He spat, lowering the weapon.

 

**"Beep! Fiende opp–"**

 

"Oh shut up you." The Spy pulled out and tossed one of his sapper's in the turret's direction, its cry ending in a crackle of static as its circuitry was scrambled by the effects of the electro-sapper.

 

"Dude, what was that for?!" Scout yelled, wiping some of the Technician's blood off his face. "He was like, going into full on super-villain mode! If ya had waited like, a minute more, he was gonna reveal all his plans an' shit! ...maybe."

 

"He was boring me. And besides," The Spy crossed over to the still glowing computer monitor. "I told you not to engage him!"

 

"Oh come on! I distracted him, didn't I?"

 

"And you could been killed by….that thing ."

 

"Yeah, but I didn't!"

The Spy gave Scout a withering look that instantly silenced the runner, before turning back to the computer.

"So, now what? Can we like, go back to our base where I'm pretty freaking sure there's like, some epic battle going on?"

 

"Not yet…" The Spy furrowed his brow as types something to the screen before him. "I have to deal with zhis first."

 

"...so, what do I do? Can I help?" The Scout's face broke into a grin. "I wanna do hacking too!"

 

"Here, do zhis." He tossed another sapper at the American. "Disable zheir teleporter. Zhat should stop zhem respawning."

 

"Huh? Like, how does that work?"

 

"Just...do it."

 

"No, seriously. Is this like–"

 

"Scout, will you please be quiet? Zhis is very complex!" He hissed, sparing a moment to glare at him, the orange of the screen staining his blue balaclava and suit black.

 

"Yeesh, fine ." He stepped over the fading bodies of the Technician and his robotic companion and walked over to the teleporter, kneeling down to it as he placed the sapper on its steadily whirring arms.

 

"Alright, done that. Now what?"

 

"I don't know! Go...check on zhe rest of the team!"

 

"'kay then."

And with that, he ran out of the intelligence room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Move out of the way Sombra, there's a new hacker in town and he's got a little friend too! And oh yeah, he's a hell lot more crazy than you. And...uh...he doesn't have the same name as a freaking my little pony villain?
> 
> Speaking of Techie, question time! where do you think he's from? This oughta be fun!
> 
> Oh yeah, I reckon Judas is Nate's middle name. Sol called him that in one of the comics and I reckon it's from his...father's influence.
> 
>  
> 
> EDIT - so uh, uploading this again because the first time, I accidentally added it to hit the ground running, not this story. goddamn it.


	14. In and out again

The hallway was empty as the Scout skidded to a halt on the linoleum tiles beneath him. Frantic panic starting to overtake him once more as it became clear that their defendants were nowhere to be seen. 

 

Where,  _ where _ could of those two gone? Had they just wandered off, bored and in search of something to set on fire and blow up? Or had they been taken out? 

 

Where they gone?  _ Permanently? _

 

Pushing such thoughts out of his head, he started running again. There hadn’t been any static, so they had to be alive. He clung onto that fact, using it to smother the fear that was threatening to overtake him again. He was not going to die here. 

 

No one was. 

 

As he took the stairs two at a time, the previous silence of the base giving away to the discord of battle, faint, but reassuringly there. Heading towards it, he swapped his pistol out for his more powerful scattergun, ready for whatever or whomever he would face out there. 

 

He ran out of the RED base, his mind shifting gears from stealth to combat, eyes scanning the clearing before him, The faint discord turning into a full on cacophony as he suddenly found himself in the middle of a battle between two black mesa agents and one of their own mercenaries clad in blue army fatigues and an oversized helmet as he ran full tilt into the fray. 

 

The Soldier yelled something to him, as less than a moment later, an explosive rocket crackling with arcane blue energy flew by him, slicing through the air he had been standing in just moment earlier. He swung around to face his enemies and blindly fired his entire magazine at the orange-and-black clad attackers. 

 

His shot was responded with a rapid burst of fire from the first agent – a figure clad in black riot gear with an orange shield detailed on his arm – and scout bit back a yelp of pain as the bullets tore through his side. His own six shots missed, hitting instead the man’s clear riot shield strapped to his arm. 

 

The other agent ignored the Scout, instead focusing on the Soldier as the American let loose another barrage of rockets. The man was the third man he had seen around the fire back at flagrun, wielding the same, bulky gun Scout had seen him carry onto the teleporter, its barrel crackling with orange energy and letting out a low, electronic hum. 

 

“PRIVATE!” 

 

The runner was suddenly dragged forwards as the Soldier reached out and grabbed him by his dogtags as the humming suddenly peaked in intensity and pitch.

 

“GET DOWN!”

 

He was suddenly thrown to the dusty ground of the map as a split second later, a wide fan of bright orange laser-like beams sliced through the air he had just occupied. The man beside him let out a grunt of pain, but otherwise didn't show any other obvious reaction or pain. 

One of their attackers let out a cry of pain as the Soldier fired off a rocket in response, the resulting explosion taking out the buff american and making the Scout’s ears ring painfully. 

 

He lay there for a moment, momentarily dazed by the sudden explosion so close to his head, before being suddenly jerked upwards again to be faced with the Soldier yelling at incomprehensibly at him.

 

His mind rapidly clearing, the runner blindly nodded and was shoved in the general direction of the base by the american.

 

He stumbled for a step or two, before getting his feet beneath him and managing to push himself into a sprint. 

 

Behind him, he heard the Soldier let out a deafeningly loud guttural yell, followed by the crack of metal shovel blade against bone and a scream of pain in response from their armoured attacker. 

 

On any other day, Scout would’ve stopped to smirk and shoot back a one-liner at the Assault. After six years of fighting alongside and against the Soldier, you learned to  _ never _ underestimate the power of a bloodlusted Soldier and his shovel.

 

But this wasn't any other day. 

 

He ran forwards, into the dark cement interior of their base. He didn't have time for that. He had to find his team before  _ something _ happened, before respawn went down or someone else came or–

  
  


_ Thwish _

  
  


The single, all too familiar sound of a syringe gun resonated through the pre-morning twilight, followed seconds later by a sharp pain and the dull sound of one of its hypodermic projectiles hitting flesh. 

 

Letting out a sudden yell of pain, the Scout looked around wildly for his attacker, spotting a pale figure for a single moment before it ran off around a bend in the quizzical architecture of the secret base. 

 

Letting out a shout, he ejected a spent shell out of his scattergun and broke into a run forwards, ignoring for now the giant black and orange syringe sticking out of his left shoulder as he pursued his attacker. Dashing through the interior, he came skidding to a halt in the courtyard expecting to find his assailant trying to make his escape up the stairs leading to the loft and the intelligence. 

  
  


But the courtyard was empty.  

 

Pausing for a single moment, He looked frantically around the empty space, searching for his assailant. They couldn’t of just  _ dissapeared _ , could they? That was impo– 

  
  


“You look lost there kamerade;” The Scout sucked in a surprised breath of air as out of seemingly nowhere, the short form of the Biohazard appeared behind him, pressing the cold barrel of his crossbow against the bare nape of his neck. “If you vant, I can give you directions to respawn.”

 

“Jesus chri–!” The Scout tried to spin around to face the man behind him, catching a glimpse of the masked face of the Biohazard for a single second only to have the weapon pushed deeper into his neck, forcing him back around. “Where the freakin’ hell did ya come from!?”

 

The Biohazard did not respond, instead remaining stoically mute for a moment. 

 

“So...you gonna shoot me or something?” Scout asked, breaking the momentary silence. “Also, ya really need ta work on ya one-liners. ‘Cause lemme be honest with ya, that was crap.”

 

“Vhat, and yours are better?” 

 

“‘Course they are! I’ve been doing this for like,  _ forever! _ An’ anyways, I’m…” Scout trailed off for a moment as he shivered, suddenly very acutely aware how how cold it was outside. “Christ, it's freaking cold out ‘ere. Can ya like, hurry up and do something pal?”

 

“I already have.” 

 

The Scout tried to spin around again to face the Biohazard, only for a wave of dizzy nausea to hit him, making him lose his balance and fall to the ground. His gun slipped from his hands, falling to the ground beside him as he collapsed.

 

The Scout lay there on the ground, eyes glazed over as he stared upwards, suddenly realising how damn  _ cold _ it was right now. His view skywards was blocked as the swiss leaned over him, the base contours of his face just visible behind the darkened glass of his suit’s faceplate. 

 

“The...the fuck was that dude?” 

 

“A highly modified version of  _ Bacillus anthracis. _ ” His voice had a tone of smugness to it, similar to the one used by the engineer when talking about his whatever his latest creation was, but also a hint of that uncertain fear he always seemed to speak with. He ejected an empty pressure canister from his crossbow and inserted a new one, pointing it down at the scout when it was fully loaded again. 

  
  


A part of the runner told him to get up, to grab his gun and shoot the man before he shot him again with...whatever the fuck was in that crossbow, but his mind wasn’t thinking straight, like if he had a really bad case of the flu and his limbs ached, turning them into unmovable lead. His stomach heaved and he struggled to keep back the burning acid of bile that was creeping up his throat. 

  
  


He managed to weakly lift his head in time to see the Biohazard let off a final shot from his crossbow, aimed directly at his head. 

 

Scout noticed his hands still shook just as he was wrenched from the realm of the living and into the void of respawn.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...christ, this is late. sorry about that. 
> 
>  
> 
> I'm not sure if I can give you an estimate on when the next one will be out as frankly, I don't know myself. It's not that I'm abandoning this or anything, its just that keeping my focus on this one story for such a long time has been...hard. I've been writing, but its not for this. So, sorry for the utter disregard of time and the shortness of this chapter. I know I said a rewrite was in order, but I'm not so sure about that now. I reckon I have about...7 chapters of this particular part left, so I might try to get this part done before attempting a shuffling of canons. 
> 
> I promise the next one will be longer.
> 
>  
> 
> PS - what noise *does* the crusaders crossbow/half-life tranq gun make?


End file.
